Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 470 Intimacy is the sharpest knife
"When the letter has your lines written..."

Every sweet word you say,
They're all cutting into themselves.

—From *Hell Post Office: Delivery Notes*

The firewood crackled in the fireplace, and the flames licked the iron bars like the tip of a patient tongue.

Jenna, holding her glass, sat back on the sofa, a faint smile spreading across her face like the aroma of wine: "Honey, stop daydreaming. Tonight... haven't we really started yet?"

Si Ming caught her, his fingertips brushing through her hair behind her ear, his voice as gentle as a hypnotic feather: "Wait for me, okay? I'd like to make a cup of coffee."

She blinked and feigned a sigh: "Are you going to make me wait again?"

Despite saying that, she still smiled and got up, carrying a wine glass, and walked towards the master bedroom. "Ten minutes. Don't take longer."

The door closed behind her, and the room seemed to suddenly go quiet.

Si Ming stood in the center of the living room, glanced at the fireplace, the wine table, and the television, then at the opened letter in his palm, and casually said to the air:
"Visual novel... This tower's dungeon is way too cheap."

After he finished speaking, he whispered the mysterious words:
"Chess pieces fall on the board, truth and falsehood intertwine. Dance in illusion—illusory king."

The shadow of the white clown mask flashed, and ripples appeared in the air.

One by one, the "fate-keepers" peeled away from his side, their expressions identical, yet like afterimages in a slideshow: some half-squatting, some turning to the side, and some looking up expressionlessly.

More than ten illusory clones, each with silent steps, dispersed into every corner of the room.

The true god of destiny still stood with his hands behind his back, listening quietly.

Something was dragged out from under the sofa; a broken earring rolled across the carpet; and the green stone glittered in the firelight.

The TV cabinet drawer was pulled open, the bills were pulled out, and the clone's indifferent gaze scanned the perfume and laundry records one by one.

The shoe cabinet door clicked open, and another clone picked up a pair of leather shoes that were two sizes too big, with mud still wet on the toes.

In the kitchen sink, the clone held two cups to its nose and murmured, "Not an aphrodisiac, but a calming one." Then it casually wiped away its fingerprints.

In the attic, dust swirled and danced with the shadowy figures.

A worn-out travel ticket stub, a deliberately scratched man's face, a woman's smile with a ring—the photo is placed in the light, and a shattered glass frame cuts the doppelganger's hand, but the blood disappears silently.

Her soft voice came from the direction of the master bedroom, like an electric shock: "Darling?...Are you alright? I'm waiting for you—"

The real Master of Fate sat back down on the sofa, as if he hadn't heard anything.

Soon, a row of items was laid out on the coffee table: a tattered diary, a USB drive retrieved from the trash can, a photo torn into thin strips, and a pack of men's XXL underwear (the tags were still on, as if someone had deliberately placed them in the shot to satirize it).

Si Ming rested his chin on his hand, looking at the pieced-together "clues," and smiled gently:
"That fatso's set."

He casually flipped open the tattered diary.

The paper was yellowed, with large pieces torn from the edges. The handwriting was tangled and indistinct, as if the writer's hand had been trembling. Only a few lines were still legible:
He promised to help me.

"I deserve better."

"Jessie... doesn't understand me."

The ink on the following pages blurred into large black spots, as if someone had deliberately splashed something to cover it up.

When the USB was plugged into the set-top box, the screen flickered and then went dark, with a line of cold, impersonal text appearing in the bottom corner—

Repair: Expected 2 hours.

The photo was torn into too many pieces. After piecing it together for a long time, I could only piece together a section of a round-bellied arm and half of a greasy profile.

A woman's hair was faintly visible at the edge, but it had been slashed across by a knife.

Underwear... it doesn't look like it belongs to "Jessie".

Tucked in the corner of the coffee table was an unsent email. The sender was Jessie, and the recipient's name was noted as: Supervisor, Reno? The email content was ordinary, just some work handover. However, there was a line of archived draft notes at the bottom:

"After the ball... she was no longer the same person."

Si Ming narrowed his eyes.

More fragments came from another diary's torn pages, the handwriting hurried and messy:

"When she came back from the ball that night, her smile was very unfamiliar."

"Jenna has been allergic to peanuts since childhood; even the smell of peanut oil can make her faint."

"But that day, she spread peanut butter all over the toast in front of me and ate it bite by bite."

She smiled and said, "See, I'm fine."

"At that moment, I suddenly realized that the woman sitting in front of me was not my wife."

—Dried bloodstains were visible beside the text, as if a finger had been bitten off when the writer finished writing.

Si Ming casually unfolded a strip of cloth hidden at the bottom of the trash can.

That was no ordinary clothing, but a snake's shed skin. Its shape was clear, resembling a human torso, with the scales on its back peeling away segment by segment, thin and transparent, still retaining a sweet and pungent smell.

Caught between the desk's pages are a few crumpled sticky notes with strange words of praise written on them:

"Great dream witch, may you grant me the body of my dreams once more."

"Idhaila is watching."

The signature is Jenna's handwriting.

The clock ticks, like Morse code dividing time into segments.

The hands of the wall clock skipped another mark, and he glanced at his phone: 37 minutes had passed.

The call from the master bedroom was a little warmer than before: "Darling—I really miss you. Come quickly."

Si Ming unplugged the USB, flicked his thumb on the port, and sighed as he placed his hand on the rim of the cup.

“Traditional evidence is futile.” He said softly, as if addressing himself and the entire room. “The post office doesn’t want evidence; what the post office wants is—acknowledgment.”

He stood up, picked up his now-cold coffee, and drank it all in one gulp.

"Then let's go take a look at the last room."

He pushed open the door to the master bedroom.

Warm light spilled out, overlapping the curves of his white mask, like a dream that he was about to shatter with his own hands.

The air in the master bedroom was sticky and ambiguous. The scent of wine mingled with the fragrance of roses. Jenna, wearing a half-open bathrobe, ran her soft fingers back and forth across Siming's chest.

Her eyes were like water, as if urging, "Jessie, why are you always so absent-minded? Don't you appreciate your beautiful wife?"

Si Ming's gaze lingered around the room, cold and distant.

He glanced at the bedside table, stared at the mirror on the wardrobe door, and finally slowly looked away.

“Because…” Si Ming began softly, his voice tinged with weariness and disgust.

"You disgust me, Jenna. You've hooked up with that fat bastard, haven't you?"

This sentence cuts through ambiguity like a cold knife.

Jenna's face turned deathly pale, her eyes flickering. She tried to maintain a smile, but it was forced and almost stiff: "Jessie, what nonsense are you talking about? How could I—"

Si Ming gave her no chance to breathe, launching a barrage of questions.

He moved closer, his gaze sharp as a blade: "Stop pretending. You think I know nothing? You think you've hidden it well?"

Jenna, the perfume you wore when you left home smelled of someone else's cigarettes when you came back; why are there still remnants of deleted messages in your backup? Do you think I can't see these details?

Jenna shook her head violently, her voice trembling: "No, it's not what you think, I just—"

The priest continued his pressure, speaking faster and faster, as if trying to nail her to the cross of truth:
"Who was it? Tell me! It was that fat Reno, wasn't it? You laughed more wildly in his arms than here with me, and you brought him into this bedroom behind my back, didn't you!"

“…No, Jessie!” Jenna finally broke down, tears welling up in her eyes, and blurted out in a panic, “It’s not what you think, there’s nothing between me and Renault, you have to believe me!” Si Ming’s eyes suddenly turned cold, and a cruel smile slowly curved his lips.

"Believe you?" He chuckled softly, as if reciting a verdict.

“Jenna, you disgust me. Renault kept your other side on a USB and admired it in his office every day, and he got caught red-handed! Do you know what people outside are saying about you? Your pathetic secret is already rotten to the core.”

Jenna's body stiffened, her defenses completely broken, her face as pale as a torn canvas.

Si Ming pressed on relentlessly, lowering his head to stare into her eyes, his voice like an interrogating hammer:

“And… I’m not Jessie, Ms. Jenna. I’m a private investigator hired by Mr. Jessie.”

As soon as the words were spoken, the ambiguity shattered completely, leaving only suffocating oppression and despair.

Si Ming silently recited in his heart, his lips twitching almost imperceptibly:
"Truthful lies, weave lies for me."

Mysterious Ability: The True Lie is activated.

The air seemed to shatter like glass, and the lights in the master bedroom flickered on and off.

Jenna's eyes widened suddenly. She seemed to see the shell of her "husband" peel away, replaced by a completely unfamiliar man lying coldly on her bed.

"Jenna." Si Ming's tone was low and chilling.
"Jessie has exposed your shameful act. That video of you having an affair with Reno... is going viral online. Everyone in the office is laughing at you."

These words struck Jenner like a hammer blow, shattering her last pretense.

She instantly lost control, screaming and cursing, her voice tearing apart the ambiguous atmosphere in the room:

"Damn it! That piece of trash! If he weren't so incompetent, if he weren't so weak, why would I have to fawn over that fat bastard? You think I like him? You think I don't find him disgusting? They all deserve to die, they all deserve to die!"

Si Ming listened quietly, his gaze cold.

He slowly reached out and put on the white clown mask.

The mask looked pale in the dim light, and the curve of the corners of the mouth was both a cry and a laugh.

"You admit it."

His tone was calm, yet carried the chilling coldness of a final judge.

"Game over."

Jenna's angry outburst came to an abrupt halt.

She stood frozen in place, her eyes vacant, like a puppet whose strings had been pulled out.

After a brief silence, she suddenly smiled. The smile carried a strange tranquility, even more captivating than her previous alluring demeanor.

Si Ming's heart sank—damn it, another reset? Failure?
However, this time is different.

Jenna slowly stood up, her bathrobe slipping silently off, revealing her snow-white body under the light.

However, soon, patches of jet-black snake scales appeared on her smooth skin, quickly covering her body and reflecting a cold, eerie light.

Her legs twisted and melted, transforming into a winding and powerful snake tail that supported her half-human, half-snake body.

She flicked out her forked tongue, her eyes gleaming with an eerie green light, and her voice was no longer Jenna's murmur, but a low chant mixed with incantations:
"Praise be to the Witch of Dreams, great Idhaila... My Lord, I serve you with my flesh and blood."

In the next instant, she lunged at Si Ming, her snake tail lashing the ground with a deafening sound, as if compressed air had exploded in the entire room.

The hunt has begun.

The room suddenly went dark.

Jenna was no longer human; her snake tail tore through the carpet and crushed the wooden planks with a dull thud.

Her exquisite body was covered in scales, her snake eyes gleamed with a demonic light, and she held a trident in her hand, its chilling aura like sharp teeth.

She flicked out the snake's tongue and whispered:

"Entwined in dreams."

Si Ming's vision blurred for a moment, and the surrounding room seemed to melt into an illusion—

He saw himself locked to a chair, with Jenna appearing as countless figures, whispering around him.

Those sounds were the whispers of lovers, the calls of mothers, and the curses of demons.

"All you want is deception... You'll never escape the tower... You don't even remember who you are..."

In an instant, Si Ming felt a tightness in his chest, as if his reason was being entangled.

The snake woman pressed forward, her trident piercing the air, her snake tail sweeping across and smashing down a wardrobe, sending splinters of wood flying everywhere.

Her voice was like a sweet love confession:
"Lay down your resistance, you weaver of lies, and offer your soul to my Lord Idhra—"

Siming froze, his eyes seemingly truly captivated by her.

The snake's tail coiled up, violently throwing him onto the bed, and the trident followed closely behind, piercing straight through his throat!
Blood splattered everywhere.

The snake woman leaned low, her forked tongue licking his cheek, her voice seductive and passionate:
“Humble mortal, your death is the best prayer for my Lord.”

However, as soon as she finished speaking, her eyes turned cold.

The figure beneath the trident began to disintegrate, turning into wisps of gray mist that gently dispersed, like a shattered dream.

A misty figure. A phantom.

The true God of Fate stood leisurely behind her.

He patted the white clown mask and chuckled softly:
"Compared to your ugly, snake-scale-covered appearance, that Jenna from before... brought me more pleasure."

The playing cards spun from his fingertips, carrying a sharp edge.

He bowed gracefully, like an actor on stage, as if taking his final bow.

In the next instant, the playing cards transformed into countless sharp blades, swirling up and forming a storm of blades intertwined with crimson and white light.

Jenna—no, the Naga snake woman—screamed and struggled, her snake tail lashing wildly, smashing through walls and bed frames, but in the storm her body was mercilessly sliced ​​apart, flesh and blood ripped apart.

The walls and bed were splattered with foul-smelling, dark green blood.

The final, heart-wrenching scream abruptly ceased.

As the storm subsided, all that remained in the room was a pool of putrid blood and fragments of broken snake scales, like some kind of dismembered offering.

Just as Si Ming was about to turn around, his gaze paused at the edge of the pool of blood—beneath the shattered scales lay a card stained with dark green blood.

He bent down to pick it up, brushed it away with his fingertip, and the stain disappeared, revealing a line of deep red text on the card:

Dream Maiden's Companion: The Snake Woman Intertwined with Scarlet and Resentment

Intermediate-level Life System

Si Ming chuckled softly, flicked the card between his fingers, and casually mocked, "Snake woman...beneath her scarlet exterior, there is indeed only a heart full of resentment."

He tucked the card into his sleeve, stood at the doorway, and frowned, as if disgusted by the bloody scene. He looked up at the clock on the wall.

The hands ticked, indifferent yet precise.

"...Ten minutes left," he muttered to himself, his tone flat, as if calculating the leeway for a single bet.

"Yes, the length of a song."

He turned and left the room, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

"In the game of the tower, intimacy turns into poison, and embraces turn into blades."

And lies are sharper than the truth.

(End of this chapter)