Chapter 114
“Little System, you never told me being a god in the Infinite World was this dangerous!”
Hearing Number 9’s words, Lu Chuan instantly grasped his own peril.
If he really became the God of Wealth, just how many top players and Executors would be eyeing him?
[Host, relax. The God of Wealth is a conceptual god, stronger than most higher deities. No player or Executor would be your match then,] #888 said helplessly.
[I didn’t expect the Main God system to take the ‘hunt the gods’ route! Proper systems nurture deities step by step—this is a crooked path!]
“But the crooked path produces results faster, doesn’t it?” Lu Chuan countered.
[Sure, but the loss rate for the gods here is huge,] #888 retorted.
[It’s basically breeding poison insects—raising players and Executors to battle gods, keeping only the strongest. A proper system would never do that.]
“Little System, focus on leveling up,” Lu Chuan said, unusually serious. “I used to think I could slow down a bit, but that won’t do.”
If he dawdled, by the time he became the God of Wealth, the game might have spawned a whole army of deities.
Too many ants can kill an elephant.
He wasn’t about to work hard only to hand others the spoils.
Decision made, Lu Chuan resolved to turn defense into offense.
Before, he’d thought hugging Number 9’s thigh all the way through would be enough, but that wouldn’t work.
Number 9 was already so high on the Executor list, clearly someone the system invested heavily in. If Lu Chuan could recruit him, he’d save himself a lot of trouble. At the very least, he had to show Number 9 the benefits and promise of working with him.
So Lu Chuan began to take the initiative.
“Mr. Executor, it feels far too formal calling you that every time—and risky, too. May I ask your esteemed name?” Lu Chuan smiled.
Number 9 frowned slightly.
“We don’t have names, only numbers. Names are something you humans use to tell each other apart. We don’t need them.”
Names were for others to call—but no one ever called an Executor by name, so they had no use for such things.
“It’s just for convenience, isn’t it?” Lu Chuan wasn’t upset at being refused. “No name is fine, we can just make one up. In different instances I often go by different names anyway. My most used alias is Jin Yuanbao, and everyone calls me Mr. Jin.”
“Then just call me Cang Jiu,” Number 9 said casually.
So random.
“Alright, Cang Jiu it is.” Lu Chuan nodded. After all, a name was just a code.
“Mr. Cang Jiu, I want to ask—this skill of yours that attracts men and women of all ages, is it active or passive?” Lu Chuan felt that since they’d exchanged names, they could get into deeper conversation.
“Passive,” Cang Jiu replied.
“Passive is troublesome, but not unworkable.” Lu Chuan rubbed his chin. “Mr. Cang Jiu, how about this? Since we need to track down the god entangled with Xi Jiangyuan anyway, just waiting here isn’t getting us anywhere. If you trust me, why not leave this dungeon to me? You can rest, and when I need you, you can step in to help.”
“Why?” Cang Jiu didn’t understand. “This instance isn’t your task.”
“Think of it as me showing what I can do.” Lu Chuan grinned, flashing white teeth. “You’ve helped me so many times already, surely you don’t want to see me as dead weight. I just want to show you my abilities.”
Cang Jiu was silent for a long time before nodding. “I’ll only handle Xi Jiangyuan’s anomaly instance. The rest, I won’t interfere.”
“Fine, that’s settled.” Lu Chuan was satisfied.
Since his skills and items were unusable, and he couldn’t fight, if Cang Jiu hadn’t agreed to help, his early progress would’ve been slow. But now that Cang Jiu had agreed, everything looked easier.
Lu Chuan wasted no time—he left the inn at once, deciding to scout around while it was still daylight.
As he’d already learned, the most important event in this world was the so-called “Birthdays of the Hundred Gods.” Before that day arrived, most churches prepared elaborate rituals, desperate to make their own deity shine brighter than the rest.
Because of this, their demands for sacrificial offerings and ritual materials were especially high.
Lu Chuan figured that was exactly why Xi Jiangyuan had been targeted and dragged into dealings with so many gods.
Starting a church from scratch now would be difficult. Unlike the god-challenge instance where he’d at least had the identity of a minor lord with startup capital, here he had only money but no power or position. Throwing money around recklessly would only court destruction.
So, Lu Chuan had to take another path.
He spent days frequenting gambling dens and black markets—places crawling with all sorts—gathering intelligence.
During this time, Xi Jiangyuan tried several times to “bump into” Cang Jiu, but Cang Jiu always avoided him, forcing Xi Jiangyuan to half-heartedly follow his captain’s lead in progressing the dungeon.
Cang Jiu wasn’t curious about what Lu Chuan was up to. As long as the gold ingot hanging from his sword hilt kept swaying, he knew Lu Chuan was working hard toward some goal.
Finally, after a few days, Lu Chuan secretly brought two cloaked, sinister-looking figures to Cang Jiu’s room.
“Honored priests, I can’t be completely sure this person is the Holy Son. But once you see him, you’ll know—if he isn’t the Holy Son, then no one could be worthy of the title for our church.” Lu Chuan’s face was full of sly triumph and excitement. “If we can present the Holy Son at the Birthdays of the Hundred Gods, our church will surely win divine favor above all others!”
“Heh. You, a broker, claim you’ve found the Holy Son?”
“If not, we don’t mind using you as the sacrifice instead.”
The two spoke in eerie voices, showing little interest in Lu Chuan’s flattery, but they still had to follow him to check.
This “Little Jin” broker had suddenly appeared in the black market a few days ago.
The black market was full of middlemen—some lived off scams, some made money from information gaps, some were spies for churches. The business was filthy to the core.
But this Little Jin stood out.
He claimed to be a lackey of some big shot, showing an uncanny eye for value and “sniping” valuable items in the market. He slipped around like a snake—no one could pin him down.
Now he had supposedly acquired a chest left by an ancient god, containing historical records of the Birthdays of the Hundred Gods and detailed rituals to please the deities.
The moment this news spread, every church started searching for him.
But Little Jin wanted no money or fame—he said he was basking in the Holy Son’s glory, serving only him. The chest was said to be an heirloom from the Holy Son’s ancestors, treasured because they were beloved of the gods. And because the Holy Son was so cherished by the gods, he could not appear in public—he had to be personally received by followers.
Little Jin even declared that no matter which church approached him, if they showed enough sincerity, he’d take them to meet the Holy Son. If the Holy Son failed to satisfy them, they could do whatever they wanted with him.
Proclaiming this at the top of the black market stunned countless churches.
Could the Holy Son truly exist?
If so, whose Holy Son was he?
Everyone waited for Little Jin to reveal him.
But instead of approaching a major church, Little Jin secretly contacted priests of the Church of the Blood Poem.
Though not large, the Blood Poem Church was notorious. Its followers were infamous for their love of blood—many were perverts and killers, and proudly claimed the title of devotee. Even among cults of evil gods, its reputation was among the worst.
The two priests had been duped into coming. If they discovered Lu Chuan had lied, they would kill both him and his “Holy Son” on the spot.
But that was exactly why Lu Chuan targeted them.
Priests of other churches were proud and unreachable, while those of the Blood Poem were bloodthirsty lunatics who took the lead in murder. Each was a wanted criminal, arrogant enough to believe no one dared fool them.
That arrogance was the gap Lu Chuan exploited.
“Look.” Lu Chuan cracked the door slightly, pointing to Cang Jiu. “Is he worthy to be your church’s Holy Son?”
The priests froze.
Their eyes glued to Cang Jiu, turning blood-red, murderous aura spilling out. Even the bugs hiding in the dark corners of the inn fled madly under the pressure. Yet Lu Chuan was unaffected, smiling at them.
It seemed Cang Jiu’s power stirred the deepest human desires.
When Lu Chuan first met him, he saw mountains of gold and silver.
Others, however, saw their most buried, intense desires.
These Blood Poem priests, no doubt, saw seas of corpses and rivers of blood—their pride and joy.
Seeing their reaction, Lu Chuan confirmed Cang Jiu’s ability.
Though Cang Jiu had shown no malice toward him so far, Lu Chuan wasn’t the type to trust blindly. Knowing your ally’s true power was always the safest path.
He shut the door and pulled the priests away from the room.
“Well?” Lu Chuan smiled. “As I said, the Holy Son is the gods’ favored child. If he represents the Blood Poem Church in the grand ritual, won’t the great Blood God surely shower us with blessings?”
“…Yes, he is the Holy Son.”
“I felt as if the Blood God himself was smiling at me.”
It took a long while for the two to come back to their senses.
“As the Holy Son’s servant, what do you want?” they asked.
“I don’t want much.” Lu Chuan lowered his head, smiling modestly. “Just to do a little business with the church.”
After sending off the Blood Poem priests, Lu Chuan seamlessly met with people from another church.
The door to Cang Jiu’s room opened and closed, again and again, but he never gave them a glance—only sat with eyes closed in meditation, or cleaning his blade.
Naturally, Lu Chuan’s schemes didn’t escape Xi Jiangyuan’s eyes.
“Uh… Benefactor, your companion isn’t a good man. You should run.” Xi Jiangyuan chose his moment, sneaking into the room and standing before Cang Jiu, though he didn’t dare meet his gaze. “Back with those ghouls, I only survived thanks to you. I can’t just watch you get sold out. These past days, that companion of yours has brought seven or eight church envoys to peek at you. He’s definitely trying to sell you!”
Thinking of Cang Jiu’s impossibly beautiful, unearthly face, Xi Jiangyuan felt even more pity. “The Birthdays of the Hundred Gods is almost here—you’d better escape quickly.”
Cang Jiu listened to Xi Jiangyuan chattering on and on, but kept silent.
Xi Jiangyuan stamped his foot, reaching out to grab Cang Jiu—only to have another hand block him.
“Whoa, don’t try to sneak in while I’m away,” Lu Chuan stopped him.
“This is between me and Cang Jiu. What’s it got to do with an outsider like you?
Entering without our permission—legally I could kill you on the spot and not be held responsible.”
Xi Jiangyuan went pale, staring at Lu Chuan as if seeing a ghost.
“You… weren’t you just outside?”
“Your stare is practically burning me alive—how could I be so oblivious?”
Lu Chuan smiled at him. “You don’t really think you’ve been hiding things well, do you?”
Xi Jiangyuan bit his lip, glanced at Cang Jiu, then had no choice but to leave first.
“I’ll find a way to save my benefactor,” he said.
“Another fool dazzled by your power,” Lu Chuan clicked his tongue twice.
“These past few days, everyone from the churches who came to see you decided you must be their holy son. All thanks to you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Cang Jiu finally opened his eyes and looked at Lu Chuan.
“Doing nothing is the biggest help. The scary ones are those who are dumb and industrious—that’s deadly.”
Lu Chuan stretched lazily. “These days have worn me out. Holy Son, before the Birthday of the Hundred Gods festival, I’m holding a little auction.”
“All you have to do is disappear—make sure no one can find you.”
