Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 469 The Drowsiness Before Delivery
"At the foot of the tower, everyone is a traveler."

When the bell tolls, who are the allies, and who are the prey?
However, just look at the first sentence of the letter.

—From *The Journey to the End: Notes from the Tower*

The phone ringtone abruptly cut short my dream.

Si Ming rolled over in the soft bed, and groggily reached out and fumbled around the pillow, carpet, and bed edge for a long time before finally finding the black cell phone under the sofa.

The screen is lit up, and a red dot is flashing—a video message.

He pressed the button.

Natasha's face almost filled the screen, with the background being the hustle and bustle in front of the tower and the slanting shadows of the lights.

"Hey! Si Ming? Today's the day to enter the tower! How dare you oversleep?!"

She laughed in anger, enunciating clearly, "Get over here right now. Ten minutes."

The message ended abruptly.

Si Ming sat up, rubbed his temples, tiptoed into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and slapped his cheeks twice in front of the mirror.

“Great,” he said, forcing a smart smile at his white mask in the mirror. “Another day playing the role of a newbie.”

The flying taxi hovered in the plaza in front of the tower. When Si Ming got out, the plaza was already packed with people of all kinds:

Cloaks, uniforms, long suitcases, cats... each person had a faint points bar above their head, as if the tower had given them "value" in numbers.

The sky was dim, and the tower's shadow pressed down on the square like a shallow well.

Not far away, the banners of the Mystic Masters Guild fluttered in the wind, and a charming noblewoman from the East Wind was chatting intimately with Natasha.

Natasha saw Si Ming and waved vigorously at him: "Over here!"

Si Ming reluctantly walked over, nodded slightly, and greeted the noblewoman: "Director, Ruoli."

Ruoli's smile was exquisite, but her eyes held no warmth. She raised her hand, her fingertips gently coming together, as if aligning with something unseen:
"Lord of Fate, Supreme One of a Thousand Faces, you have finally joined us. How about it? Are you looking forward to returning to the Tower to slaughter again?"

Si Ming shook his head and yawned: "No. I just want to find a place to take a nap right now, really."

Ruoli glanced at him, her gaze as precise and clean as if she were looking at a brand-new part that had just come off the assembly line.

"Alright, stop joking. Remember, once we step inside the tower, no one knows where we'll be taken. None of the people you meet are trustworthy."

Points, winning, escaping, completing missions—that's everything to you.

If you're inside the tower, your mission is to kill me. Remember, show no mercy. And so will I.

Natasha shrugged, gave Si Ming a "don't be scared" look, and added:
"There's no need to be so ruthless—Siming, if the mission states that you can give up 90% of your points for a chance to escape the tower."

Remember to use it when necessary; preserving your life is more important than points.

Also, keep an eye on your Star Calamity. Don't lose all your points in the tower. If you go back to the base, you won't have enough chips to buy the Golden Fruit, and then you won't even have enough Star Calamity to sustain yourself—no one can save you.”

Si Ming nodded, still sleepy: "Understood. When do we begin?"

Ruoli turned around and looked up at the gray-white giant tower that pierced through the sea of ​​clouds.

She seemed to be listening to some distant sound, and after a moment, she said softly:
"When it gets hungry."

"Nature will naturally swallow us up."

The wind swept across the square, and the banners fluttered in the breeze.

The tower walls were silent, as if holding their breath.

Si Ming rubbed his eyes, his voice still sleepy: "...What do you mean when it's hungry?"

Ruoli simply turned her head away without answering.

The tower itself provided the answer in the next moment.

boom--

An indescribable sobbing sound came from the depths of the colossal shadow that pierced the sky.

It wasn't the sound of wind, nor the friction of metal, but a strange sound mixed with weeping and groans, like countless guttural voices singing in an ancient church, carrying an ominous echo.

The God of Fate raised his head.

He witnessed the most indescribable sight of his life—

The massive black tower that stood between heaven and earth was slowly rotating.

As the tower walls crumbled, the other side gradually came into view...

There, on the originally smooth and flawless stone wall, huge mouths suddenly appeared.

They come in all shapes and sizes, some long and narrow, others wide and round; some are large enough to swallow an entire house, while others are as small as a baby's crying lips.

They opened simultaneously, densely covering the tower walls, their wails, cries, and hisses converging into a jarring "hymn."

That wasn't a song of praise, but a chorus of curses condemning the doomed planets.

The next moment——

puff!
Each giant mouth simultaneously spews out thick tentacles. They are covered with slippery scales and barbs, and the ends are covered with densely packed sharp teeth.

Si Ming was stunned.

One of the tentacles lunged straight at him, so fast that its trajectory was almost invisible.

The scraping sound was like an iron file scraping glass, with a harsh, teeth-grinding quality.

"Damn it—" Siming's expression changed, and he instinctively prepared to activate the Mysterious Cards.

But just then, my shoulder suddenly tightened.

It's Natasha.

She simply reached out and gently patted his shoulder, shaking her head with a resolute expression.

At that moment, Si Ming felt a chill run down his spine—as if this kind of "being devoured" was a normal state that everyone had to accept.

Before he could even think, the tentacles had already pierced through his abdomen.

A tearing pain spread instantly, and he could clearly feel a kind of life force being frantically drained away.

"Well--"

I suddenly felt short of breath and my vision blurred.

Yu Guangzhong saw Natasha and Ruoli being pierced by thick tentacles and lifted into the air.

Their bodies were suspended upside down and bound in the air, slowly dragged toward the waiting giant mouths.

Blood mist drifted out, and a foul stench filled the air.

Natasha seemed to be speaking; she exaggerated her mouth movements, gave Siming a smile, and her lips opened and closed slightly.

The God of Fate tried hard to discern, as if—

See you next time... I hope you come back alive.

But the sound was too soft and was swallowed up by the strange chorus.

The next moment, Siming's body was also rolled up and dragged close to that huge mouth full of fangs.

The grinding sound of teeth clenching seemed to crush bones. A putrid stench assaulted his nostrils, almost making him vomit.

However, strangely enough—

In such a desperate situation, he could not muster the will to resist.

As if some hypnotic force suppressed his struggle, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

Sleepiness spread from the wound, from the blood, and from the depths of the soul.

What Si Ming saw in the end was a nightmare woven from countless fangs and tentacles.

Then, he slowly closed his eyes and sank into endless darkness.

Sima Ming slowly opened his eyes.

He lay on a faded sofa, and before him was not his apartment in Taki, but an unfamiliar American-style cottage:

The flames crackled and danced in the fireplace, the firewood charred black;

On the coffee table sits an opened bottle of red wine, its surface shimmering with a dark red glow.

The television in the corner flickered, playing a monotonous weather forecast.

"...Local nighttime temperatures will continue to drop, so residents are advised to keep warm."

The voice was flat, like a monotonous broadcast.

Si Ming rubbed his temples, a strange sense of unreality welling up inside him—it was as if he had been swallowed by the tower's giant maw one second, and the next moment, he had been thrown into some fake "stage".

He stared at the television.

Suddenly, the screen jerked.

The female host, who had been sitting upright in the studio, began to twitch her face like a crack, her mouth splitting open to her ears, her smile so eerie it seemed she was about to tear her entire face apart.

"Dear players—"

Her voice was abrupt and halting, like a mechanical sound as if nails were driven into her vocal cords.

"Welcome... to Hell Post Office, Kill and Deliver."

Instantly, the screen flickered, snowflakes filled the screen, and the deep sound of a postal horn echoed in the background, as if reverberating from the depths of the street.

The female host's face suddenly almost filled the screen, her eyes fixed on Si Ming, her lips moving:
Rule 1: Each letter is a destiny mission.

Rule Two: It must be completed before the next delivery, otherwise, disaster will surely befall you.

Rule Three: Refusing delivery will escalate the delivery disaster, and resistance will bring even greater disaster. The postmaster doesn't like refusing deliveries, and you don't like facing his wrath.

With each announcement of a "rule," the fireplace flames dimmed abruptly, and the air in the room grew increasingly cold.

Si Ming felt a chill run down his spine.

"Ten minutes until this round of deliveries begins."

The female host gave a stiff, indescribable smile, her teeth breaking and reforming one by one on the screen, making a crisp sound like shattering glass.

"Please sign for this."

As soon as he finished speaking, the television screen went out with a "snap," and the entire house fell into dead silence.

Only the flickering firelight from the fireplace remained, dancing forlornly as if waiting for something to arrive.

Si Ming rubbed his temples and murmured softly:

"...This is what the tower gave us, the first level of the game?"

"Honey, what's wrong?"

A languid and tender voice came softly from behind.

Siming froze abruptly. He turned his head and saw a red-haired beauty walking slowly towards him.

She was wearing a loose bathrobe, which was open at the chest, revealing glimpses of her fair skin.

She held a half-glass of red wine in her hand, the liquid rippling in the lamplight like blood-red waves.

She sat down naturally, leaning into Si Ming's arms. His body was warm and soft, as if everything were perfectly normal.

"Jessie, darling, you look terrible today. What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

"...Jessie?"

Siming's brow twitched, and before he could speak, a piece of abrupt information suddenly pierced his mind:

—Jessie, male, 36 years old, Level 1 Network Engineer at Qixing Company in Grizzly Bear Town.

—Jenna, female, 27 years old, Jessie's wife.

A sharp pain struck him, and he almost thought his brain had been nailed shut.

"Damn it..." Si Ming cursed under his breath.

"This tower not only wants me to play a death game, but it's also forcing me to play a role-playing game?"

However, the red-haired beauty in his arms was breathing warmly, and it was undeniably real.

Her body temperature was excessively high, as if it would slowly evaporate Si Ming's reason. Si Ming's heart sank, but a cold, amused smile curled at the corner of his lips:

"Alright, then I'll see how far you're going to take this show."

“It’s alright, Jenna.” Siming adjusted his tone, mimicking the pre-programmed “Jessie.”

"I was probably too tired from work during the day, and I was just a little dazed."

"Oh?" Jenna's eyes narrowed slightly, and a smile appeared on her lips.

She took a sip of red wine, but didn't swallow it. Instead, she leaned over and covered him with the wine, slowly transferring it to Si Ming along his tongue.

She straddled Si Ming's lap, her hands braced against his chest, her voice low and suggestive:
"So? Let me help you relax?"

An atmosphere of ambiguity filled the air.

The flames in the fireplace leaped and danced, seemingly providing accompaniment to this scene.

However, in the flickering firelight, Si Ming caught a strange glimpse out of the corner of his eye:
Jenna's shadow did not obediently stick to her back, but trembled gently like a living thing, its outline sometimes elongating and sometimes splitting into several thin strands, as if it were sticking out an invisible tongue on the carpet.

Her breath was sweet and strong, yet mixed with an indescribable metallic smell, like the fermented odor of blood mixed with alcohol, which instinctively made people feel repulsed.

Si Ming couldn't tell whether the smell came from the red wine in her mouth or from some hidden, deep truth within her.

Her eyes gleamed in the firelight, an excessive red, like gemstones soaked in the night.

Her smile became more and more charming, yet it also seemed more and more like a mask.

At this moment, the atmosphere of lust was pushed to its extreme, but the vague bloodstains and chaotic shadows made Si Ming's heart even colder.

Just as the atmosphere was starting to get out of control—

Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!

The shrill doorbell rang suddenly. Urgent and chaotic, like an alarm bell before a heart attack.

Jenna frowned, seemingly extremely impatient. She muttered a curse under her breath:
"Damn it, it's the postman."

Si Ming narrowed his eyes and asked, "How did you know?"

Jenna's tone was as if she were used to it: "That must be a letter for you, Jessie."

Go get it quickly. It's the rule in Grizzly Town—you can only collect your own mail; you can't refuse to accept it.

She rolled over and sat down on the sofa, casually tossing her long, wet hair. Her eyes seemed to say:
"Hurry up and deal with the mailman, we'll continue when he gets back."

The fireplace flickered, and the doorbell rang urgently.

Si Ming slowly exhaled, his gaze fixed on the dark door.

"Well, the first letter from Hell Post Office... has finally arrived."

Outside the door, shadows flickered.

With a loud "clang," the iron postal staff slammed down on the floor tiles, sending up a shower of sparks.

Si Ming subconsciously looked up and saw that familiar figure.

—The Minotaur postman, in a crisp black uniform, with a rusty metal badge around his neck, and black flames burning in his eye sockets.

The whip in his hand swayed slightly, producing a grating sound like the friction of bone blades.

Countless memories flashed through Si Ming's mind, and he almost blurted out:

"...A hellish postman delivering calamities?"

He took out his mysterious card, and with a light touch of his fingertips, the outline of the monster was engraved on the front of the card.

The resemblance is striking, as if it stepped right out of the card.

The postman did not respond.

Its eyes glowed with a ghostly light like candlelight, sweeping from the top of the God of Fate's head to the soles of his feet, as if analyzing and judging.

The air suddenly turned icy cold, and even the fireplace flames seemed to freeze with a "click".

After a long while, the postman finally raised his hand.

The huge, gnarled hand, which looked like it was pieced together from withered bones, handed over a letter sealed with scarlet lacquer.

The envelope was as cold as ice. When it touched Si Ming's palm, it felt as if fine needles were crawling along his veins and into his heart.

He looked down.

The recipient field for the letter is not "Jessie".

But:

"To the Lie Weaver, Si Ming."

Si Ming's eyes narrowed, but a mocking smile curled at the corners of his lips.

"...Heh, so I was the one being played."

He opened the envelope.

The paper trembled slightly, as if breathing, and black ink automatically appeared on its surface:

Instruction content:

Before the next hour arrives,
Find out—and uncover your wife Jenna's infidelity.

You will have two chances.

Each time, you must produce "evidence" and confront the other party face-to-face.

If the evidence is absurd, she will laugh and reject it.

If the evidence is conclusive, she will admit it.

As for what will happen after the admission...

This is not your responsibility.

Please remember:
If you are unable to complete it, the next letter will contain your obituary.

Supplementary Terms:

You cannot refuse this letter.

You should not let others do it for you.

The evidence may already be scattered throughout your house.
Or perhaps it's buried deep within her eyes.

Hell Post Office - Guaranteed Delivery

"Intimacy is the sharpest knife."

When the last line of the paper was laid down, it was as if an invisible hand had pressed down on it with a branding iron, making a sizzling sound.

Si Ming narrowed his eyes and softly uttered two words:
"……interesting."

Si Ming turned and went back to the living room.

On the sofa, Jenna crossed her legs and leaned back lazily, twirling a wine glass between her fingers.

The firelight illuminated her eyes, revealing a mixture of tenderness and provocation.

She smiled meaningfully: "Darling, tonight...have we not really started yet?"

Si Ming glanced at her, a playful smile on his lips as always.

He slowly sat down, reached out and took her hand in his, his voice low and deep, like a lover's whisper:

"Jenna, if love is a dance... will you ever stumble on the wrong step?"
Perhaps... an unexpected melody came along with another dance partner?

Jenna's eyelashes trembled slightly, as if she was being teased.

Si Ming's gaze deepened as he continued to guide the conversation, his words like a trap, yet cloaked in the guise of sweet talk:
If one day you really whisper in someone else's arms...

Do you dare say "yes" to me?

Tell me... and I will forgive you and be more understanding.

The atmosphere suddenly froze.

Jenna's lips parted slightly, and the red wine trembled on the glass.

Her eyes glazed over for a moment, as if gripped by some invisible force—

That was the post office's "lock," preventing the script from ending prematurely.

She managed to squeeze out a muffled tremor from her throat... but it abruptly stopped.

The next second, her expression suddenly changed, as if nothing had happened.

She picked up her wine glass, took a gentle sip, and spoke in a voice as tender as ever:
"Jessie... what's wrong with you today? You look terrible. Are you too tired?"

Si Ming leaned back on the sofa, his black pupils filled with only coldness.

"...As expected, the script is locked."

He murmured to himself, but a clown-like smile still lingered on his lips.

"Letters are scripts, and characters are stamps."

You think you're lying.

Even the lines about 'lies'

They've all already been written into the post office's archives.

(End of this chapter)