Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

"Ah."

“With me, you can make deals, in secret.”

"secret?"

“Yes,” the reporter rubbed his hands vigorously, “private, unknown, buried deep in the heart, subverting the normal image, secrets never shown to others, thinking that these disguised things are being unveiled in front of me is as exciting as a goddess in my dreams lifting the hem of her skirt for me.”

"But if it's a secret you don't want others to know, why would you use it for a trade?" Clearly, that's impossible.

"Because, deep down, everyone has that sinful pleasure of spying on others. They want to keep secrets, but they also want to know other people's secrets, and the price is naturally their own secrets. My rule is that I will never reveal the secrets I know to the public, which is the first layer of security for them; I will decide the secrets you receive based on the secrets you tell me, which is the second layer of security; third, I will not include anyone's name in the secrets I give you, but I will provide appropriate guidance."

"It's a fun game, a bit dangerous, but it's captivating enough that people always get absorbed in the fun of digging."

"But if we can't choose which secrets we want to know, why would others willingly reveal their secrets?"

The reporter made a hoarse sound, like a crow cawing at dusk, pointed to himself, and his words were like a well-laid net.

"Because the secrets I tell always satisfy them."

Like a gloomy old man with a dark mind, hiding in a dark corner doing shameless things.

However, if one could obtain a secret that would be helpful to them, at the cost of having their secret known only to unimportant people, they would surely be tempted.

But there is another problem, namely public trust. People deposit money in banks because banks have the ability to guarantee the safety of money. But what does the reporter rely on? His own moral standards, which probably cannot convince those people.

“My talent is called the Secret Master. I can gain power by knowing secrets. This power will affect every aspect of me, including luck, wealth, and abilities. I am a secret natural exchange. My talent also constrains me. Those rules are also part of my talent. In addition, I can also distinguish between truth and lies.”

What if you break the rules?

“I will not break it. There are no ifs. Talent is a gift from God. He can give it and he can take it back. And the price is not something we can bear.”

In other words, the journalist will enforce those rules, and he will not reveal his secrets to anyone unless the transaction rules are met.

"Mr. Reporter, you must be feeling very bad, after all, it's painful to have a secret but not be able to tell it."

Would you stop making money because your hands get sore from counting it?

Makes sense.

"Sir reporter, can I proceed with the transaction now?" Lyle asked, showing some interest.

"Of course," the reporter replied with a smile, rubbing his hands together.

"Shouldn't we find a secluded place?"

"No need. The moment you have the idea of ​​confiding your secrets to me, the secret agreement has already begun. The content of the conversation will only be known to the two of us."

"oh oh."

Lyle wondered what secrets he might have.

"Actually, my wish is to make a lot of money."

"Okay, I get it now."

"Well, then what?"

That's all.

"Didn't you say you should tell me a secret too?"

The reporter took a step back, and Lyle felt that the secretive atmosphere had disappeared; he could hear the sounds around him again.

The secret pact is over? Where are the things? What happened to my secret?

"Mr. Plague Doctor, a secret is only a secret if it is known only to the person who knows it. Since you have chosen to be frank, it is no longer a secret. In fact, even if it is a secret, if I already know its contents, then the secret agreement is invalid."

"Let's make a deal once you've really thought it through."

Chapter Forty-Nine: The Legend of Fear - Mr. Delusional

Although he really wanted to make a secret deal with the reporter, Lyle realized that he was not a very deep person. His thoughts were simple and transparent, and he didn't seem to have many secrets worth hiding.

The fact that he's a time traveler is one thing, but Lyle wouldn't be foolish enough to use that as a bargaining chip.

After exchanging pleasantries with the reporter for a while, Lyle turned his gaze to another person.

Mr. Willem Wyjang.

His name sounds like some kind of 20th-century sparkling wine, of course, that's just a little joke I made.

I've mentioned him in conversations with Mr. Gentleman before. He seems to be a writer who is pursuing inspiration. I wonder if his sci-fi-inspired mechanical outfit is part of that pursuit.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Willem."

The cube-shaped head tilted at a subtle angle on its neck, as if it felt the need to begin a conversation. Small particles protruded from its smooth surface, like an open box, revealing a small virtual screen on the front.

If I'm not mistaken, behind the screen appears to be a model of a human brain with several electrical tubes inserted, sparks flashing beneath the cortex, making it look out of place in this era.

A pair of handsome male eyes were projected onto the virtual screen, eyes with a deep and mysterious style, which happened to be the kind of charm that Lyle liked the most.

"Yes, your style is truly unique."

"Thank you, every friend who meets me for the first time says that. Your bird beak mask is also very...unique."

Mr. Willem offered a forced compliment to Lyle's appearance, the obvious awkwardness of which made Lyle realize that the gentleman might not be suited for social interaction.

"Mr. Plague Doctor, what did you just call me?"

"Mr. Willem, is there a problem?"

"No, it's just that people usually call me Mr. Delusional or Mr. Willem, and very few people mention my name."

"That might be for my personal reasons, because the name was used by something I used to know." Of course, I won't mention the name of the sparkling wine from the 20th century, lest I surprise you.

The eyes on the virtual screen changed to a squinting, thoughtful expression.

"Let me guess, is the person you're familiar with the 21st-century director Willem Daifurt?"

"?"

Lyle shuddered, his hand bracing on the table while his other hand massaged his temples to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from overwork.

“Mr. Willem, could you please repeat that?” This is the Middle Ages, not even the fifteenth century.

“I said, the 21st century, Mr. Plague Doctor, that’s the distant future. I’m a time traveler.”

Lyle fell to the ground as if someone had hit him in the waist with a home run. He grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, struggled to get up, and finally sat on the table without any grace, because his weak thighs could no longer support his body.

"what do you?"

“I am a time traveler, someone who has returned from the future. I come from the future.” Mr. Willem’s expression remained unchanged, and the captivating eyes on the virtual screen even blinked.

Another time traveler?

"You mean you're from the 21st century future?"

"Do not……"

Lyle took a breath.

"I come from the 22nd century."

Lyle hunched over, coughing as he struggled to breathe.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, can't you see? My body... I am a cyborg from the future."

"Excuse me for being frank, but I find it hard to believe." It's hard to believe that I'm not the only time traveler.

"It's alright, I can tell you a story."

……

The story takes place in 2112.

City of Tears.

A city named after its perennial acid rain.

The city is controlled by several huge high-tech conglomerates. High technology and an unprecedented wealth gap make it both a paradise and a hell.

Artificial intelligence emerged in the last century, and in this century, human rights legislation concerning artificial intelligence has just been implemented.

However, having citizenship cannot help you escape poverty; this principle applies to both humans and artificial intelligence.

Poverty and desire have created a gray area, which the upper class often turns a blind eye to.

Alcohol and anesthetics became the sleeping pills for the desperate underclass.

However, all of this had nothing to do with Willem Wyján.

He was born into a middle-class family, received a good education, and had a high-paying job as a plastic surgeon.

A plastic surgeon who works with both humans and Andy.

Andy is the name of a company, an artificial intelligence company. They produce 80% of the existing artificial intelligence, and over time, these artificial intelligences have also been collectively referred to as Andy.

In this era, cosmetic surgeons are considered a sacred profession because they can not only create beauty but also prevent death. The mechanization of the human body has become the norm, and countless wealthy ladies are willing to queue for hours and pay a large sum of money for their halogenated buttocks.

Willim is a master in the industry. He has an aesthetic sense that surpasses that of ordinary people, and every creature he transforms is hailed as a masterpiece.

He became a guest of honor among ladies and young women. He met many people: wealthy women with aggressive eyes, young ladies who longed for beauty, and frail girls who were desperate.

People elevated him to a pedestal, and Willem felt he had lost something. He looked at his perfectly modified titanium steel hands, and the excitement he felt whenever a masterpiece was created vanished.

Willem considered himself an artist and believed he should strive for something higher.

He was also tired of simply modifying a part of someone else's body according to their requirements. Even if he modified that part to be the most beautiful, piecing it onto someone else's body was like putting the latest engine on a pig.

Willem Wyján wanted to create the most perfect form in the world, with his eyes that pursued beauty and his hands that sculpted beauty.

Soon, a group appeared before him, a group he had never encountered before.

Candy, a type of artificial intelligence, was designed to please humans. None of the candies were modified by Willem because they were beautiful to begin with. After the enactment of the Human Rights Act, these social machines gained freedom, a freedom of loneliness without any support. A few became idols through their appearance, but the vast majority were lost and confused, led by themselves or others to jobs they were originally familiar with.

Alcohol, narcotics, and candy became a source of solace for the desperate people at the bottom of society.

However, Willem was disgusted by the candies. He pounded on the table in a fit of rage and roared like a beast, considering it a desecration of beauty.

One day, he saw a candy with very beautiful lips, as tempting as a freshly ripened cherry.

She had just seen a client off when Willem walked over, and as if performing a skilled surgery, he used his usual surgical instruments to perfectly peel off her sensual lips.