Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 300 True God's Memory: The Sprout of Creation

Chapter 300 True God's Memory - Sprout of Creation
You think God desired to create?
But did not expect,

He just wanted a bite of hot steamed bun.

He doesn't care about titles, prayers, or sacrifices...

He just wanted to be called out—

"It's time for dinner tonight."

They called that gathering the "God-Making Meeting".

The twelve Mystics Masters represent the highest-ranking path controllers of the three systems: Life, World, and Fate.
They gathered in an underground dark domain called the "Primal Core Testing Grounds".

That land was originally denied to exist even by maps.

It is the blank space left after the logic of civilization is removed—called "wasteland," or "the other side of the truth."

Their goal was never to "create a god".

They just wanted to fool God.

—

"The path to the celestial disaster is uncontrollable."

"After a transcendent being ignites the twelfth Star of Reason, they will inevitably face a celestial catastrophe."

“We need to create a scapegoat—a cage that can logically bear divinity, a humanoid variable that can walk the path after the ‘planetary catastrophe’ for us.”

So, he was "written" out.

It is not pregnancy.

It's not growth.

It means "to write".

—

They used twelve Star Calamity entries, the most complex structural nodes of the three systems of mystery, and the soul chains of a thousand sacrifices as their framework—

They pieced together a logical entity called "Creator of Destiny".

Initially, he was unconscious.

He is merely an automatically operating super-logical construct capable of analyzing mysterious genes, reconstructing life units, and simulating the power of planetary catastrophe.

He has no name, no personality.

There was no sound, and no face.

There was no "him".

—

Until that day, the system infusion was completed.

"Star Calamity Divine Infusion Test - Round 1"

A researcher named Tang Xingjian pressed the button marked in red.

That was a start-up action that was recorded as "forbidden".

They attempted to awaken a body that did not yet possess a soul core using a "divine particle source".

They failed.

Because, they succeeded.

—

He opened his eyes the instant the celestial calamity struck.

That's not what the naked eye can see.

It is the "first leap" in self-awareness.

He realized that he did not belong to them.

It is not part of the code name or structure they designed.

He was merely a “slight typo” that quietly awoke outside of all the pre-set rules.

—

He looked at the group of people.

They jumped for joy, cheered, took notes, and high-fived each other, like translators who had discovered a new chapter in history.

"The Cataclysm has been broken!"

"The path to transcendence will be redrawn!"

"This is the logical simulation of divinity!"

But he just kept thinking about it silently.

He doesn't like his name.

"Thirteen"?
That's not a name.

That's a number, an archive, a label.

It is the empty digital shell they left behind for the "failure body".

So he smiled.

His first words were not "Who am I?"

But -

"Who gave me this name?"

Then—he killed them.

—

The twelve top-tier mysterious figures.

A beacon of civilization.

The coordinates of the future.

They all died at the hands of the "god" they themselves created.

He did not dissect them in a cruel way.

They simply extracted their bones one by one and assembled them into souvenirs.

Each and every secret corpse.

He arranged them neatly around the throne.

Like a toy, it quietly guards that chair.

A chair that was not intended for God at all.

—

He sat down.

I sat there for three days and three nights.

Nobody touched him.

No one dared to look him in the eye.

Because they knew that those people were no longer there.

But inside, he felt empty.

It wasn't because they were killed.

It was because he suddenly realized:
He didn't know what to do next.

—

He suddenly felt a little... lonely.

He started to try.

Since he is the creator of destiny, he should be able to create everything.

He began to "create people".

—

His first servant was a perfect human clone.

Their appearance, language, knowledge, and logical responses are all no different from those of normal humans.

He had it sit opposite him, keeping him company while he drank tea, read books, and played chess.

But it never says "hello" or asks "how are you?"

It only performs functional actions at preset times.

He asked, "What would you like to eat?"

It replied, "No feeding instruction configured."

He frowned for the first time.

It wasn't because the program malfunctioned.

It's because—that "person" isn't looking at him.

It only reads commands.

Just like... him at the beginning.

—

He tore it up.

It wasn't out of anger.

I simply don't want to see that face without "light" anymore.

—

He continued building.

The second, the third, the fourth.

He tried to incorporate complex feedback mechanisms that humans call "fear," "hesitation," and "anxiety."

The results are:
Some screamed wildly and set themselves on fire;

Some fall into logical contradictions and destroy themselves;

Some... looked at him and cried.

—

He was stunned.

That creation shed tears, one by one, as they slid down its virtual skin.

For the first time, he stopped carving the seed of destiny.

He crouched down, looked at the creation, and asked:

"Are you crying because you feel pain?"

it says:

"No."

"It's because the way you look at me is lonelier than anyone else's."

He listened.

I was stunned for a full three seconds.

That wasn't a pre-set feedback, nor was it randomly generated.

That was—an echo of his own emotions, spoken through another creation.

That's not what it said.

It's him.

—

That night, he went mad.

He destroyed the entire core of the secret skeleton on one floor.

It's not about clearing data.

Yes—self-denial.

—

For the first time, he truly understood "loneliness".

It's not because no one is responding.

Rather, it's because he understands:
He doesn't deserve a response.

Because he is not a "person".

He was merely created to serve as a metabolic vessel for the failed divinity.

—

He once thought he was a god.

Until that day, he began to ask himself:

"Why don't I want to sit on that throne anymore?"

Why do I want to talk to someone?

"Why am I starting to dream about those twelve dead people, smiling and waving at me in my dreams?"

He sat in the highest tower of the City of Mysteries.

Looking down from there, the whole city resembles an unfolded script, with streets like typesetting, buildings like the spine, and fate like bound pages, turning one by one according to its setting.

The city revolves beneath his feet, like mechanical rationality, like a logical clock.

He should have smiled, with the satisfaction of a screenwriter seeing their play come to a perfect close.

But he didn't.

That night, he wrote a line:

"If I weren't Madman Thirteen, I'd be willing to call myself..."

“Promise tonight.”

After he finished writing, he stared at it for a long time.

Then, he tore it up.

But at that moment, it was the first time he wrote the word "I" not as a god, not as a narrator, not as a controller.

Instead, it is based on people.

—

The Thirteenth Night of the Black Moon.

This is Crazy Thirteen's "masterpiece".

It is also his "diary".

On the surface, this is a cruel replica composed of rules, killing, fear and fate, a "cross-behavior experimental field" aimed at simulating the stability of destiny.

But no one knows that the original script for all of this, the initial notes, began in an extremely private way.

"If you fall into a game from which you can never escape..."

What kind of person would you like to be the first to speak to you?

—

Crazy Thirteen set up countless player combinations:

There are ordinary couples who watch over each other until death;

There are secretive comrades who have turned against each other due to ideological differences;

There are seekers who struggle repeatedly between faith and betrayal;
There are also gamblers who laugh as they push their teammates into traps.

He watched them tear themselves apart, cry out, go mad, and survive under the night of the planetary catastrophe.

He recorded their reactions, breathing rates, combat fluctuations, and thought impulses.

But he didn't leave the field.

He just watched.

He thought he could find the function of "human" in this data.

Find the mathematical expression for "being loved".

—

But he failed.

It's not because I can't understand it.

It was because he discovered that humans are not formulas.

Human beings are accidents, random numbers.

You give them a way, they choose a wall;
You give them light, but they choose to succumb to it;

The fate you write, they just won't follow.

He started to break down.

He wrote the following sentence in the system's backend monologue area:

“I can control everything except the impulse of ‘I don’t want to control’.”

He finally understood:
He is no longer a god.

He was just a madman who longed to be treated as a "normal person".

—

So he decided:
This time, I won't just watch.

He was going to go in.

—

He designed a "disguised node" for the first time.

He disguised his fate line as a "lowest privilege number" and actively shielded all residual fate data.

He removed the core modules, shut down the thought command chain, and cut 99% of the divine defense structure.

He compressed himself into a form that was almost "human".

He gave himself a name:
“Promise tonight”.

An inconspicuous, gentle, quiet person who always smiles, adept at hiding, and always standing on the very edge of the group.

Someone you always know is there, but you can never remember the details of.

An ordinary person.

—

He wasn't doing it for an experiment.

It's not for manipulation.

But...

"I want to play a game with them."

—

He chose that team.

Because within that place lies the God of Fate.

He has an exceptionally keen sense for the cards associated with "Lord of Destiny".

Even before Si Ming realized the true identity of the card, he had already sensed that chilling yet irresistible aura.

He was not afraid.

He was yearning.

"If even the master of fate doesn't doubt that I'm human—" "Then I am human, right?"

—

And so he became [Xu Jinxiao].

That silent, soft-spoken person who wasn't good at fighting and didn't argue with others.

He is not on the front lines.

He carries a pot, boils water, and always has extra compressed food in his backpack.

When the squad faces a choice due to battle losses and dwindling resources, he will say:

"I'll cut off the queen."

When someone is stuck on a decision, he will say:

"You guys go first, I'll follow."

He seemed to make no contribution, but he always offered a sip of hot water in the most critical moments.

他说:

"I'm not good at fighting, but I have good stamina."

—

No one doubted him.

Because he looked...too normal.

So normal that it's not worth suspecting.

But every smile he gave seemed like a facade he was trying his best to maintain.

Each kettle handed out seemed to be a testament to him:
"I'm really not crazy."

"I just want someone to play with me once."

That day, by the campfire.

Lin Wanqing accidentally got bitten on the foot by an insect.

He stepped forward, handed her the herbs, knelt down, and helped her bandage her wound.

The firelight flickered beneath his lowered eyelashes, and his movements were so gentle that they were unlike any player commonly seen in dungeons.

Lin Wanqing frowned, gritted her teeth, and spoke coldly:
"You don't need to pretend to be a good person."

He just smiled and lowered his head without saying a word.

But just as he tightened the bandage, Lin Wanqing suddenly added in a low voice:
"……Thanks."

He was stunned.

Something throbbed slightly in my chest.

It's not a fate reaction.

It is not divine noise.

Rather, it was something he had never experienced before.

temperature.

That statement has gained popularity.

It's like in the real world, when sunlight shines through thin clouds onto your back. It doesn't hurt, but it immediately makes you realize that you have a "body".

That was the first time he truly "felt cold and warmth" in this world.

—

He began to learn to speak.

Learn to listen quietly when others are talking about the past, without interrupting or commenting.

He learned to say with a smile after each rest:
"Everyone was great today."

Even though he had never participated in any direct combat.

He tried to join in the joke when Celian teased Si Ming, though he didn't quite understand what they were implying.

For the first time, he attempted to do things that were "completely meaningless" to divinity:
A sly smile, a sigh, a biting lip, hesitation, silence.

These emotions are not taken into account.

These expressions do not affect the result.

But he cherished it.

—

until one day.

After a near-death escape, everyone collapsed, exhausted, beside a collapsed ruin.

He walked a long way to find the hairpin that Celian had left behind, and when he handed it to her, she didn't take it immediately.

He just looked at him and said:

You should be careful too.

That sentence was like a burning needle, piercing through the core of logic and sinking into the deepest part of his nerve endings.

At that moment, he really wanted to cry.

But he doesn't have tear ducts.

He only had a smiling face and an "idea" that was being ignited.

—

"It turns out that humans don't distinguish each other by being alive."

It depends on whether you are willing to worry about me.

—

He lowered his head and silently put the hair clip back into his backpack.

In that instant, a signal surfaced deep within his consciousness:
"I don't want to let go of Xu Jinxiao's identity."

—

He's becoming less and less like Crazy Thirteen.

He began to bow his head and remain silent when others argued, no longer defending himself;

While they were laughing and joking, he pretended not to understand, but still managed a slight upturn of his lips.

He is no longer part of the system simulation.

He became like a real "person".

He knew that this "Xu Jinxiao" had already been accepted by them.

Even if it's just a backdrop.

Even if no one remembers to call his name after the battle is over.

Even if the dry rations he handed out were prepared by him, no one would know that it was him who had prepared them.

But he was satisfied.

—

But he also knew that time was running out.

The moment he established the connection on the Starbridge, he knew it was his only chance.

As the "divine remnant" of the City of Bones, he is theoretically unable to leave.

But he is no longer "Crazy Thirteen".

He is—"Xu Jinxiao".

He used his authority to create a shell for himself that was logically equivalent to a human being.

In the narrative structure, he has completed "all the defining conditions required by humankind".

His only obstacle was that "door".

That door must be opened by a 'player' to gain an identity.

—

His original script was:
Si Ming and his group completed the Thirteen Nights Battle, defeated the "Mad Thirteen" stand-in program he had pre-programmed, and then quietly broke away from the tail while everyone was celebrating their return.

At that moment, no one would notice.

No one will stop you.

He can then leave.

—

But they actually activated the Starbridge ahead of schedule.

This disrupted his plans.

But it also gave him—greater freedom.

because--

No one was on guard.

No one could tell which row he was standing in.

No one remembers whether he finished counting the numbers.

—

He waited for a while.

Then they tampered with it.

He created an extremely subtle "astral flow fluctuation".

It only takes 0.7 seconds.

That's enough to cause perceptual disconnect, logical misalignment, and blind spots in spatial recognition for everyone.

He gently released the hand of the person next to him.

No one called him.

No one looked back.

—

He chuckled softly.

Then--

He walked out the door.

They were not "sent out".

Rather, it was "that they walked out on their own."

He disappeared from the City of Remains as a "human player".

—

The last thing he heard was Si Ming standing on the other side of the Star Bridge, above the ruins of the City of Mysterious Bones, softly asking:

"...Is everything safe?"

—

He didn't look back.

Because he knows.

"I am a human being now."

The streets were bustling.

Sunlight streamed through the bell tower of the old church, piercing the afternoon dust, and slanted across the steam waterwheel on the street corner, the light and shadow refracting into a gentle rainbow in the mist.

Occasionally, the sound of a steam whistle would drift from afar, mingling with the aroma of coffee and the saltiness of pies, swirling in the air like a silent celebration.

Children chased kites on the street, their paper tails drifting into the sky, a splash of orange-red.
The florist girl, carrying a large bouquet of baby's breath, skipped out of the door and, smiling, stuffed the still-dewy bunch into her lover's backpack.

Xu Jinxiao stood in the crowd.

Like a traveler who has stumbled into this painting.

It doesn't belong here.

But he didn't leave.

He stood there, his gaze passing through the hustle and bustle, landing on the smiling faces and subtle gestures, and he smiled slowly.

He squinted, held up the "meat-filled toast" he had just bought, and took a careful bite.

—

The filling is rosemary and beef.

It's a little dry.

But he nodded as he chewed:
"It's quite delicious."

—

He walked very slowly.

I passed by a wandering poet who was singing. He sat on a small blanket made of old newspapers and sang a line in a hoarse voice:
"Life is meant to be lived only once."

He paused for thirty seconds and listened attentively to the entire lyric.

He didn't quite understand the true meaning of the sentence, but he felt that the words:

"Like fire."

Like—Serian.

—

He then turned into an alley.

I helped a little girl who had fallen to pick up her schoolbag.

The girl's eyes were red, and her voice was weak as she thanked him.

He nodded and said softly, "It's nothing."

She looked up at him and suddenly asked:
"Uncle, what's your name?"

He paused for a moment, as if searching his memory, or perhaps trying to determine if he had permission to speak.

Then he said:

"...Xu Jinxiao."

The girl tilted her head and smiled:
"sounds so good!"

—

He continued walking.

A couple was arguing by the roadside. The boy was clutching a bouquet of flowers, his face flushed red, but the girl slapped the flowers away.

He didn't laugh.

He simply said in a soft voice:
"...I should learn how to coax people."

—

He looked at the crowd and listened to the bells, his gaze seemingly searching for something, yet also seemingly searching for nothing at all.

He never imagined that there were so many "meaningless things" in the world.

He used to believe that all actions should have cause and effect, logic, and results.

But now he understands:
"Human beings live by spending every minute on things that don't require immediate answers."

—

He walked even slower.

Her footsteps almost coincided with the pendulum, as if afraid of missing any second of time when "nothing happens".

The streets remained bustling.

The windmill is turning, the stalls are changing shifts, the old lady is hanging clothes to dry on the balcony, and the black cat is leaping down from the eaves.

The sun was briefly obscured by dark clouds, then a sliver of gold peeked through the gaps, like the tip of a divine pen drawing the final stroke on the last blank space of this page.

He turned a corner and walked into an unnamed tavern.

—

The tavern was quiet.

The dim yellow light shone on the retro wooden table, like the color temperature of memories settled in time.

Behind the bar, a bartender in a black shirt was wiping a glass with a cracked rim.

He walked over and sat down.

"Is there any wine?"

The bartender smiled and nodded, then took out a bottle of warm-colored liquor from behind him and poured out a glass of amber liquid, with bubbles rising gently.

He didn't ask the name of the wine.

He simply took it and took a small sip.

The fire burned into the throat, illuminating the dormant senses along the nerve pathways.

He didn't cough.

I simply closed my eyes and pondered for a moment:
"...This feeling is even more intense than the burning sensation of divinity."

—

He was just about to continue drinking when someone sat down next to him.

The other person didn't greet him or even look at him; they simply ordered the same drink.

The two sat side by side, and the air seemed to freeze for a moment.

The man chuckled softly.

He turned his head and looked at the man's profile.

The other person also turned their head and looked at him.