Chapter 38: Artificial Abyss

Reality World, Station 13.

Watching Tian Dao stand over the defeated Coral Knight—victorious, unshaken, radiating absolute dominance—audiences beyond the Dimensional Screen were stunned.

"Not the real deal, I thought you were just flexing—turns out you’re actually this good!"

"Tian Dao Era—fueled by pure anticipation!"

"Can’t believe I picked the right man!"

Everyone expected Tian Dao to win.

Everyone knew he would win.

But no one anticipated this kind of victory.

Because victory comes in shades—small wins, moderate wins, and massive wins.

If today’s triumph hadn’t been utterly decisive, utterly crushing, utterly flawless—then it wouldn’t count.

Not when the audience had already built him into a myth: the born conqueror, the peak of stellar power, the one who stands above all.

And that was precisely why Tian Dao had spent two years meticulously preparing for this moment.

Yes—whether it was the audience at Station 13, the mastermind behind the test, Yun Meng, or even the defeated Coral Knight himself—they all believed Tian Dao had been caught off guard, thrust into battle without warning.

But only Tian Dao knew the truth.

Every so-called "coincidence," every seemingly random turn of events—none of it was chance.

It was all planned.

It was all designed.

No preparation?

Wrong.

Tian Dao wasn’t just prepared—he had prepared for two years.

All to ensure that in this so-called "spontaneous" clash, he would rise like a supernova, dazzling the world with a performance so perfect it defied belief.

After all, in the original storyline, Chen Kong and his team had barely survived their battle against the crab-like aberration orchestrated by Yun Meng and Coral Knight.

And then came the final trial: the Second-Rank Stellar Envoy—Coral Knight.

Though Chen Kong’s team was inevitably crushed, the encounter had allowed Tian Dao to gather invaluable intel—not just on Coral Knight’s combat style, but on the very nature of his Stellar Source.

So while the audience saw Tian Dao reacting to each move with flawless instinct—like he was encountering Coral Knight for the first time—

in truth, he had rehearsed this battle in his mind countless times.

With such calculated precision against an opponent who believed himself unprepared—

if Tian Dao had lost, he wouldn’t have needed the writers to kill him off.

He’d have walked into a wall and ended it himself.

But now, Tian Dao’s battle was over.

Yet Chen Kong’s was just beginning.

Listening to the distant sounds echoing from within the fog, Tian Dao’s eyes flickered—his mind suddenly alight with a mischievous idea.

He called Yun Meng and Coral Knight over, whispering urgently into their ears.

Their expressions froze in shock.

They hadn’t expected Tian Dao to go this far.

Yun Meng, however, snapped her fingers and slammed her long, silk-covered leg with sudden excitement.

"Perfect! Let’s do it—just like little Tian Dao said!"

Though Yun Meng had already committed, Coral Knight hesitated.

His heart, kind and honest, still worried.

“Miss Yun… Tian Dao… are we really doing this? Isn’t it… too much for Chen Kong and the others?”

Tian Dao waved it off casually.

“Nah, nah. You’re just too cautious, Coral Uncle.”

“Think about it—this won’t hurt them. It’ll push them. It’ll unlock their full potential. It’s beneficial, not harmful.”

“Relax. We’re doing the right thing.”

Seeing Tian Dao’s unwavering confidence—and Yun Meng practically vibrating with anticipation, already miming the motions of a man possessed by the urge to act—Coral Knight finally gave in.

And so, the Artificial Abyss was born.

With the director and lead actor already brimming with performance energy, the two wasted no time.

“Sis, your acting’s not convincing—how come your stockings aren’t torn when you’re dying? You think your black silk’s a legendary Stellar Artifact, invincible?”

“Exactly! Thanks for catching that, little Tian Dao. I’d’ve blown it otherwise.”

“Sis, don’t use up all the tomato juice—save some for me!”

“Little Tian Dao, how’s this pose? Will the others see through it?”

“Not enough. Too stiff. Come here—watch me. Now this is how you fall.”

“There. That’s professional.”

“Wow, you’re genius, little Tian Dao! Now they’ll never know I’m faking!”

“Of course not!”

In the bewildered silence of the Dimensional Screen audience, the two unscrupulous siblings launched into a full-scale, highly professional production of a fake battlefield—complete with staging, costumes, and props.

Yun Meng lay in the crater left by Tian Dao’s elbow strike, her face and body painted with a thick, realistic layer of tomato juice—mimicking blood so closely it was almost convincing.

To heighten the illusion, Tian Dao had her rip open part of her blouse, exposing the sleek, defined lines of her abdominal muscles.

Even her black stockings were torn—just enough to reveal the pale, delicate skin beneath.

“Frayed silk with glimpses of white skin, smeared with blood—that’s the visual punch,” Tian Dao explained, satisfied.

And if Yun Meng was selling it, then the director himself had to outdo her.

Tian Dao lay motionless beside a wrecked car, his body riddled with glowing purple coral spines—his limbs twisted, his breath shallow.

To deepen the illusion of poison, he’d taken a non-toxic purple coral fluid from Coral Knight and carefully painted it along the veins of his neck.

He even coated his fingernails—every detail, perfect.

From afar, he looked like a man drowned in venom, his body wracked with the creeping, violet decay of a fatal toxin.

His performance was so convincing, the audience might have believed he was truly dying—had they not been watching the entire time.

Now, the truth was clear.

Tian Dao wasn’t just faking his defeat.

He was orchestrating a deliberate illusion—a staged collapse, a fake tragedy.

His goal? To make Chen Kong and the others believe both he and Yun Meng had been utterly crushed by Coral Knight.

To ignite their fury.

To unlock their deepest potential.

It was cruel.

It was manipulative.

It was brilliant.

And though the audience knew it was fake—knew it was staged—they couldn’t help but feel the thrill.

Because the joy of fiction often comes from the pain of others.

“Wow, Tian Dao, you’re so bad… but I love it.”

“Artificial Abyss? Now that’s a concept.”

“I thought I hated melodrama. Turns out I only hate real tragedy. Fake? I live for it.”

Meanwhile, in the fog-drenched parking lot, Tian Dao lay still—eyes closed—yet fully aware.

Through the Dimensional Screen, he watched everything—every twitch of emotion, every reaction, every comment from the audience.

And in his mind, a quiet, wicked laugh echoed.

Was this just a trick for Chen Kong and the others?

No.

Tian Dao’s true performance wasn’t just for the characters within the world.

It was for them—the viewers watching from beyond the screen.

Yes, the audience were part of the plan.

Because when this fake tragedy ended, everyone—Kalolin included—would remember it vividly.

And when the real tragedy came at the end of Season 1…

They’d already be conditioned to doubt.

They’d whisper to themselves: This can’t be real. Tian Dao’s just playing us again. He’ll wake up. He’ll smile. He’ll say, “Gotcha.”

And they’d believe it—because he’d done it before.

But then… the moment would come when he didn’t rise.

When he couldn’t.

When the laughter never returned.

And the agony would hit—not once, but in waves.

First, despair.

Then, hope.

Then, worse than despair.

Because now, they’d know what it felt like to lose the one thing they believed in.

To watch their hero fall—for real.

And that, Tian Dao knew, was the true power of a blade.

What cuts deepest?

Not a blade of steel.

But one wrapped in memory, in hope.

So Tian Dao wasn’t just building a story.

He was crafting emotions.

He was creating pain—not to destroy, but to transform.

He wanted Chen Kong to fight harder.

He wanted Kalolin to feel more.

And he wanted the audience—his audience—to remember this moment forever.

Because only when hope becomes unattainable, and memory becomes only memory—

can a story truly cut to the bone.

In the art of manipulating hearts and hype?

Tian Dao was the master.

PS: Daily reminder—please keep the reads and monthly votes coming!

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end