Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 332 The Fire of the Golden Branch
Not all sparks of fire come from heaven.

Some are ignited quietly in the mud.

—From *The Annotated Edition of the Door Mirror: The Chronicles of the Queen: Liseria's Chapter*

Pota Street was unusually quiet today.

The morning fog lingered, and the dampness, carrying the chill of the night, seeped into the cracks of the streets. Mud and water quietly accumulated between the broken bricks, like an extension of yesterday's shadows.

The morning shops along the street had not yet opened; their doors were tightly shut, and their signs seemed to be drowning in the mist.

At this moment, only the soft rustling of papers turning in the small classroom where morning and evening classes were held could be heard, like pages turning in the wind, quiet and focused.

Si Ming stood by the podium, his movements as meticulous and restrained as ever, checking today's teaching materials one by one.

His fingertips brushed across the cover of the lecture notes, then turned the pages of a thick book titled "The Structure of Life Lines: An Introduction to Structural Center and Spiritual Flow".
The book had a stiff cover, whitish paper, and was five hundred pages thick; it had just been delivered by a royal messenger yesterday.

He turned to a page, his gaze lingering for a moment before settling on a line of writing at the bottom—delicate yet powerful ink lines, the signature clear and distinct:

Liseria Trean.

He looked up at the door, his voice low but conveying an unwavering certainty:
"coming?"

The door opened with a click, and the fog rushed in.

Marlene stepped into the classroom, dressed in a simple court lady's outfit, carrying a large stack of textbooks in her arms, her steps hurried but not chaotic.

Her breathing was slightly disordered, but the smile on her face did not diminish in the slightest. She was like the first rays of sunshine in early spring, warm despite her exhaustion.

"Her Highness knows that today's topic is 'overlapping life lines.' She stayed up all night proofreading the last two chapters and specifically asked me to send them over early."

She placed the teaching materials neatly on the lectern, then took out a neatly folded note from her pocket and respectfully handed it to Si Ming.

"This is her handwritten lecture note, saying that when you talk about the section on 'star chart stability', you can ask your students to copy this page of the chart."

Si Ming took the note, his eyebrows twitched slightly, but he didn't say much. He just glanced at it, then folded it up and put it in his pocket, as if he were carefully preserving a page of annotations.

Just then, there was a slight knock at the back door of the classroom.

Ian walked in yawning, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but his words, as always, carried his characteristic sarcasm and irreverence:

"Isn't this the advanced textbook from the Door Mirror Academy? Are you planning to apply for entrance exam standards with this after-school class?"

Si Ming didn't look up, his fingers steadily arranging the pages of the book, as if he were completely immune to the mockery.

Marlene looked around, her gaze settling on the row of empty seats by the window, and smiled slightly.
“She will come in person today. She said, ‘Telling stories is worse than talking about theories.’ She felt that your talk was too cold, and the children felt like they had been frozen after listening to you.”

Ian curled his lip and raised an eyebrow in retort: ​​"We call this professional instruction."

Marlene smiled gently, her eyes filled with tenderness.

She said that children prefer teachers who smile while lecturing.

Just then, the sound of footsteps outside the classroom began, like raindrops falling lightly in the mist.

The three of them looked towards the doorway simultaneously.

The door was gently pushed open, and the morning mist rushed in with the breeze. A figure slowly walked into the classroom from behind the door.

He wore a grey cloak, the brim of his hat pulled low, obscuring his eyebrows and eyes, but his familiar voice remained as gentle as ever:
"Sorry, I am late."

She slowly took off her hat, and her long, dark hair fell down, revealing a delicate face with a hint of wisdom.

Princess—Lyselia Therian.

—

She walked lightly and silently into the classroom. It wasn't the frivolous manner of an aristocrat, but a heartfelt consideration—avoiding disturbing others as much as possible was her habitual self-restraint.

Before the children arrived, she naturally walked to the podium and spread out her notebooks, hand-drawn comparison diagrams, and meticulously annotated sketches of destiny lines that she had brought with her.

The desktop was immediately covered with carefully prepared teaching materials.

She looked up and smiled gently at Si Ming. Sunlight streamed through the window and fell obliquely on her shoulders, making the gray of her cloak appear slightly warm.

At that moment, she didn't seem like a princess, but more like an ordinary teacher who was used to getting up early to prepare lessons.

“I have prepared two examples. If we talk about the section on ‘misjudgment of double life pattern displacement’, we can guide them to practice.”

Ian raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue as he stood to the side: "Are you really here to give a lecture?"

Liseria smiled calmly, opened her speech notes, her knuckles moving as steadily as the arc of a character drawing their destiny:

“I am a top graduate of the Door Mirror Academy, not a vase on the throne to adorn power.”

Marlene sighed, "Here she comes again—the 'Vase Counterattack' sixteenth move."

—

Soon, the first batch of students entered the room.

Most of them came from poor families. Some of their parents were dockworkers, some mended old clothes in back alleys, and some were "returnees" who had been rescued from the numbering system.

But there was no fear on their faces, and no inferiority in their eyes.

Because they always remembered: "This princess was the first person to call them 'students'."

Liseria stepped down from the podium, crouched slightly to correct the pen-holding posture of a nervous little boy, her voice soft and warm:
"The line should be curved, not slanted. You can imagine it coming from your mind and slowly drawing it out."

The boy blinked, nodded, and a glimmer of light appeared in his eyes—the light of being "seriously taught," the light of knowing he was being seen.

Si Ming sat at the back of the classroom, quietly watching the focused figure below the podium, remaining motionless for a long time.

He knew she wasn't "playing the loving card".

She really wanted to teach.

During class, Liseria was guiding her students to draw "Life Rune Breathing Curve Diagrams".

She didn't simply pile up terms from the book, nor did she bombard their immature minds with suffocating structural names.

She simply took out two pieces of colored paper that "imitated the patterns of life lines," one with sparse lines and the other with complex and dense lines, and asked the students to hold them and gently compare every inch of the undulations, the flow and retraction of energy on the paper.

“The life line is a letter you write to the world in your own way.”

"If you write sincerely, it will quietly read you once."

Her voice was not loud, but it carried a very steady gentleness, as if she were speaking into the mist, or as if she were slowly pulling a thread from her heart and handing it to the children's palms.

After she finished speaking, she turned her head slightly and looked towards the back row.

There, Celian leaned lazily against the windowsill, a piece of dry bread dangling from her lips, a smile playing on her lips as she yawned and watched her.

"You speak more gently than I do."

Liseria smiled in response, her tone relaxed, showing no displeasure at being disturbed:
"You speak rather quickly."

Selene's lips curled into a smile, her eyes narrowed, and her voice carried a hint of teasing:
“My teaching method was mainly based on ‘scaring’.”

Ian rolled his eyes and muttered to himself:
"That's just tactical pressure."

The God of Fate raised his hand, his knuckles lightly tapping the table, a clear sound silencing the commotion.
"What she said is correct."

The children burst into laughter, their laughter devoid of pressure, assessment, or jargon—only the innocence of children and the lightness that a classroom should possess.

At this moment, the classrooms on Pota Street were no longer shelters from the storm, no longer ambiguous educational experimental grounds in the cracks between social classes, nor were they any breeding grounds for political futures.

It is simply a classroom that is respected.

In front of the podium, an old drawing board whitewashed with lime was pushed up the steps.

Liseria rolled up the sleeves of her cloak, inserted a pen handle into the inkwell, then raised her hand and began to draw a series of clear and vivid basic life runes on the board.

Her brushstrokes are extremely steady, her movements are extremely slow, and her lines are as smooth as water droplets gliding across a lake. The structure is precise but not obscure, carrying a kind of "understandable elegance".

The children sat around her, some staring intently, others biting their pens.

There was also a little boy who was secretly looking down and using his finger to imitate her strokes on the old spell paper on his leg, trying his best to reproduce the angle of each stroke.

She noticed, but didn't stop her; she just smiled gently, her eyes showing encouragement.

"Today's topic is the three-layered structure of the life line."

"As you already know, the surface of the life lines is an 'energy path'."

“The middle layer is the ‘behavioral loop’.”

She paused slightly, her tone slowing, her voice lower, as if she were telling a secret meant only for them:
"And at a deeper level—is language."

The classroom suddenly fell silent.

Even Ian, who usually sits in the back, raised an eyebrow.

He realized that Liseria was no longer simply imparting knowledge, but trying to teach these children how to reclaim the "right to write" their own destiny.

Si Ming sat in the back, his expression unchanged, but after he finished speaking, his eyes flickered slightly, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Liseria took out a card template from her bosom. It was a low-level practice card specially printed by Morning Star, with a four-byte mysterious derivative spell structure engraved on it: "Seal - Pain Relief".

She held up the card, smiled, and said to the whole class:

"You've all seen the effects of this card: stopping bleeding and relieving pain. It's one of the first skills beginners should master."

She paused for a moment, then lowered her head, folded the card in half, and then in half again.

On the third fold, she subtly applied pressure with her fingertips, pressing a deep and sharp crease into the paper, almost embedding it into the paper fibers.

She looked up, her tone calm, but no longer gentle:

"But if you fold it too much, it's no longer a pain relief card."

"It will explode."

The children all gasped in shock.

Liseria looked around, her eyes devoid of reproach, yet as resolute as a calm mountain peak.

"I'm not trying to scare you."

"This is to let you know that life lines are a language. If you can write, it can read. If you write it wrong, it will also 'correct' it."

"And fate's 'correction' often uses—your body."

Below the podium, the youngest girl timidly raised her hand, her eyes nervous, and asked in a low voice:
"Teacher...how can I avoid making mistakes?"

Liseria paused for a moment, then stepped down from the podium, knelt in front of the girl, and gently tidied a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

She looked into those eyes that had never known fear before and said softly:

"Don't be afraid of making mistakes."

"The important thing is whether you read your own sentence carefully."

"You must first understand yourself before writing it down, so that your destiny lines will not deceive you."

After she finished speaking, the classroom fell silent for a moment again.

No one spoke; the children simply lowered their heads instinctively.

Stroking the still-unilluminated life line on the back of their hand—as if trying to reread a letter they had once written with care, but never truly read aloud.

At that moment, Celian, sitting in the back row by the window, rested her chin on her hand, her gaze piercing through the thin morning mist, landing on the figure at the podium. A smile played on her lips as she turned her head softly to Si Ming and said:
"She's not like you."

"You want them to 'understand fate,' she wants them to 'like fate.'"

Si Ming did not respond immediately. Instead, he lifted his gaze from the book and placed it on the group of children sitting around Liseria. His eyes deepened, and he slowly spoke:
Who do you think is more clever?

Selene squinted, lazily turning her head to look at the sunlight streaming in through the window, as if she were thinking, or perhaps she didn't care to answer.

"I will not say."

She paused, her gaze returning to the podium, where the princess was gently explaining to a timid girl how to deal with a mistake in the life line, her tone as gentle as the light shining on her forehead at night.

Selene looked at it for a moment, then spoke slowly and in a low, hoarse voice:
"But she taught...very gently."

—

After class, the classroom finally emptyed out.

The children left in an orderly fashion, a few of them secretly tearing off the life rune patterns that Liseria had drawn on the blackboard during class.

He tucked it into his tattered exercise book, as carefully as if hiding a sacred charm.

Liseria stood at the door, seeing them off one by one, a smile always in her eyes.

A little girl with braided pigtails walked slowly to the door, head down, not daring to speak.

Liseria suddenly bent down, gently unfastened a silver button from her cloak, and handed it to her palm.

“You wrote the most solidly, so use this as a talisman.”

The girl paused for a moment, then smiled as if she had received a card certification—pure and undisguised, her eyes brimming with light.

—

The classroom gradually quieted down.

Liseria sat in the back row and gently closed the thick book, "Advanced Fate Pattern Structure."
The book closed with a soft click, as if quietly sealing away a lesson. She leaned back in her chair and exhaled softly.

She looked back and saw that Si Ming and Selene were still in the corner.

She raised her hand and beckoned to them, her voice gentle:

"How did your presentation go today?"

Si Ming nodded, his tone as calm and restrained as ever:
"Very standard for a senior lecturer in peepholes." Ian strolled in from outside, his gaze sweeping over the ink stains left on the desk and the sketches the student hadn't taken away, giving them a sidelong glance:
"He doesn't even seem like a real combatant."

Liseria raised an eyebrow, her expression unchanged, her tone calm yet tinged with a smile:

"I have said that I talk about theory, not violence."

Selene smiled and shook her head, feigning exaggeration:
"But what level of arcane master are you? You haven't said a word from beginning to end, and even we can't figure it out."

Liseria smiled gently, stood up, and casually straightened the creases at the edges of her cloak in one smooth motion, without the slightest sign of panic.

"A graduate of the Door Mirror Academy, he completed the Ten-Star Secret Language course in three years, a record that remains unbroken to this day."

She slowly turned around, her gaze sweeping between the two of them, her tone unhurried:
"I also have two Mysterious Cards."

"I just don't show it—because I know that the most dangerous pen is always the quietest one on the podium."

—

As night fell, the lights on Broken Tower Street went out one by one, leaving only the faint glow of the lamplight interspersed with the moonlight at the street corner.

The classroom had been cleaned, and the window frames creaked intermittently in the night breeze. Starlight filtered through the cracks in the brickwork, scattering across the gravel steps in the backyard like a silent commentary.

At this moment, the three sat side by side on the steps—Liseria, Siming, and Celian, each holding a glass of water, around a dream lamp that was still burning.

They are no longer princesses and vampires, no longer lecturers and strategists.

There were only three of them, fellow travelers who had just finished the course.

Liseria looked up at the night sky, her eyes reflecting the trajectory of the stars.

"The night sky over Broken Tower Street is brighter than that of the Royal Palace."

Selene leaned against the stone steps railing, chuckled, and spoke with a hint of sarcasm:
"Of course it's bright. The palace is shrouded in fog, has towers, and is shrouded in taboos—everything is kept hidden from view."

Siming slowly turned his head to look at Liseria, his voice low and deep:
"You've been frequenting these places lately—aren't you afraid your brother will be watching you?"

Liseria seemed to have expected this, a smile playing on her lips:
“They’ve been watching for a while now. Not just the older brother, but also—the older sister.”

She paused, the smile fading from her eyes, replaced by a hint of coldness:
“Yesterday, I found an anonymous letter in the pigeon coop in my study, warning me that I was ‘attempting to spread dangerous doctrines’ and ‘inducing the lower classes to deviate from the norm.’”

She turned to look at Si Ming, blinked slightly, and spoke as if in jest:

"Guess who wrote it?"

Si Ming's gaze darkened, and his tone was unwavering:

"What about the Chancellor?"

Liseria shook her head, her voice gentle to the point of being almost calm:

"No, it was sent by the church. It was signed by a certain 'faith inspector'."

Selene raised an eyebrow and snorted coldly:
"Then you still dare to come?"

Liseria raised her water glass and gently touched the glass shade of the Dream Lamp. The lamp flame trembled slightly, as if in response.

"Of course I'll come."

"Because these children don't need divine revelation. They just need someone to tell them—that they have a choice."

She paused, looked into the empty classroom, and spoke in a lower, yet unwavering voice:
“I hope they remember not that ‘the princess gave them hope.’”

"Instead—'they inherently have the right to understand the world.'"

—

Si Ming looked at her, remained silent for a moment, and then suddenly asked:
"You know what you're doing, right?"

"You are challenging the entire upper-level logical structure."

Liseria took a sip of water, lowered her head and chuckled softly, her tone gentle yet calm:
“I’m using a different approach—making it impossible for them not to accept change.”

Selene tilted her head and looked at her for a few seconds, half curious and half helpless:
"You put it lightly."

Liseria glanced at her, a sly glint in her eyes, and a slight upturn of her lips:

"Then why don't you teach me how to hit someone?"

Selene glanced sideways and sneered:

"Stop fooling around. I'll teach you, are you brave enough to learn?"

All three laughed.

The laughter echoed in the night, like the wind rippling across a calm lake, creating gentle waves.

At this moment, there is no need for mystery or fate markings.

Just the three of them, sharing a glass of water in the night, sitting on the edge of the world outside the classroom.

And starlight began to shine inch by inch from behind them.

A moment later, the lamp burned out, leaving only a last wisp of light flickering gently on the wick, as if to give this night class a gentle ending.

Liseria spoke quietly, her voice gentle, yet carrying a certain firmness flowing from the depths of her heart:

"My mother once told me something."

“‘You were born into the court, so you must understand that true power is not used to control others.’”

"Instead—get others to willingly sit at the same table with you."

Her gaze turned to Si Ming, her eyes calm and composed, devoid of any fiery sharpness, but possessing a clear composure that bordered on compassion.

"That's why I don't want to be the one on the throne."

"I want to be the one who makes that throne exist."

—

Si Ming gazed at her silently, his eyes deep, offering no response for a moment. He seemed to be pondering the weight of her words rather than merely listening to their meaning.

Celian spoke first, her voice no longer joking, nor carrying her usual nonchalant air; it was unusually serious, even somewhat wary:
Do you know what this sentence means in the politics of Chongqing?

"That means you are a dangerous person."

Liseria didn't deny it, she just smiled, a smile that didn't try to hide her cunning.

There was not a trace of aristocratic affectation, but rather the calm that only someone who truly knows which path they are on can reveal.

"If the throne must be built on fear."

“Then I would rather they fear my ‘inappropriateness’.”

She stood ramrod straight, her gaze unwavering, but her tone grew increasingly calm:

“You are afraid of the nobles, afraid of the church, afraid of Orion, afraid of their counterattack.”

“But I’m telling you—they’re actually more afraid of me.”

"For I sit right next to them, yet I never kneel down to their gods."

—

She slowly stood up, her cloak swaying slightly with the movement, starlight streaming in from the window.

Her silhouette stretched out, falling on the mottled ground where gravel and flickering lamplight intertwined, like a brand new figure emerging from the shadows of power.

Si Ming looked at her, his gaze now more inquisitive than judgmental for the first time:

Are you really sure you can handle them?

Liseria smiled slightly, her tone unchanged, but her eyes now held a sharp, cold glint:

"I never take out my two Mysterious Cards."

"It's not because we're hiding our talents, but because they're not meant to be used to fight."

"They are used to—win people."

She turned to the side, her gaze fixed on the night sky, her tone gentle yet carrying an oppressive conviction:

"What I possess is the [Harmonizer's Mystery] of the Fate system."

"Its passive ability is: When I choose not to respond to hostility with hostility, there is a 33% chance that the other party will turn hostility into a covenant mindset within the next 45 minutes."

Selene coldly uttered:
"It sounds like a witch casting a seduction spell."

Liseria raised an eyebrow and chuckled:

"Then let's call it 'politics'."

—

The lights on Broken Tower Street went out one by one, leaving only a Dream Lamp, which swayed slightly at the classroom door, emitting a faint glow, as if it was unwilling to say goodbye to this tranquility that belonged to the night and the class.

Si Ming stood there, watching the black carriage slowly drive away, the sound of hooves echoing in the night mist.

He didn't say goodbye, nor did he need to—he knew that Liseria would definitely come back for this lesson.

—

The carriage traveled along the ancient stone-paved streets of the foggy city. The night fog, like a living creature, surged and clung to the wheels, like a fog beast breathing slowly in its sleep, silently accompanying them.

The interior of the car was as quiet as an unopened letter. An oil lamp burned low beside it, its flames flickering and casting a soft yellow glow on a corner of the window.

Marlene leaned against the window, her voice so low it was almost an echo of the wind:

"Your Highness, you have been out for three nights in a row. What if His Highness Orion's men find out..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but the last syllable of her words was like a dagger hidden in a sleeve—sharp, yet familiar.

Liseria, draped in a grey cloak, looked remarkably serene in the lamplight. Her voice was soft, yet it seemed to cut through the weight of the night:

"You know what, Marlene—"

"On Pota Street, I felt for the first time that the word 'princess' was superfluous."

Marlene was taken aback. She looked up at her, her eyes filled with complex emotions—surprise, worry, and even a hint of awe.

Liseria didn't turn her head, but just stared at the mist outside the carriage window. The peace and certainty in her eyes made it seem as if she was no longer in the carriage.

"Because they call me 'teacher'."

She smiled gently, a smile so tender it seemed to melt into the lamplight:

"I like to be remembered because of what I said."

"Not because of who I am."

—

The carriage glided silently past the street corner, and a lamp by the roadside had not yet gone out.

A little girl was leaning against the window, quietly reading a line of crooked writing she had drawn on a magic paper:
"The teacher said... life lines are letters written to the future."

Liseria heard it, closed her eyes, as if quietly burying those words in the deepest corner of her heart.

Marlene spoke softly, almost in a murmur:
"They really...like you."

Liseria opened her eyes, gazing at the faint light of palace lanterns in the distance. The light was cold and distant, yet it could not conceal the clear and penetrating determination in her voice:
That means—I haven't done enough.

—

The carriage entered the palace's front hall, passed through high archways, bypassed countless attendants who bowed to her, and traversed deserted gardens, all the way back to her familiar Quiet Residence.

Everything was eerily quiet, as if she had just returned from a long and ceremonious palace banquet.

But she knew—what she had just finished was a truly authentic classroom experience.

That was the closest she ever came to true "power" in her life.

It wasn't because he held a scepter,

It's because—someone is listening to her.

—

She entered the inner chamber, where Marlene removed her cloak and lit the bedside lamp, its fragrance wafting softly.

But Liseria did not rest immediately.

She looked at the notebook on the desk, walked over, sat down, picked up her pen, and slowly wrote the last sentence of the day on a blank page:

"In the eyes of children, there is a future I have never seen."

After she finished writing, she gently put down her pen and signed her short and familiar signature:

—Liane

Her pen paused slightly as she gazed at the words, murmuring softly, like a night breeze unfurling a scroll of destiny:
"The future... is not written by me."

"But I want to—teach them how to write."

"A true king does not wait in his palace for people to worship him."

Instead, he walked down to the street and handed out the pen.

Then, someone saw someone write their name on their future destiny lines.

(End of this chapter)