Chapter 3: Crime and Punishment

Aether, a type of magical energy particle present in the atmosphere, is the fifth fundamental element constructing the world, alongside water, fire, air, and earth. It was defined by the ancient Greek archmage Aristotle.

Aether is omnipresent, yet invisible and intangible to ordinary people.

Only those who awaken to the Truth and become mages can absorb aether and wield this extraordinary power.

Even undergoing refinement with a small amount of aether grants a formidable body far beyond that of normal humans.

A vast chasm separates mages from mortals.

“Go, go ahead…”

Antonini, who usually swaggered around taking advantage of privileges as an overseas student, could not withstand such violent pressure.

Cold sweat poured down, soaking him from head to toe.

He dared not utter a single word, pressing his hand onto the sculpted page.

A thick book, vivid red from cover to cover, appeared above Antonini’s head.

“Candidate Antonini, awakening Truth: The Cotton Empire.”

Whalebrow announced calmly, as if nothing had happened, then mechanically called out:

“Next, Li Hua.”

Neither Zhou Ke nor Li Hua had guessed Antonini’s Truth correctly, voiding their bets—a bit of a pity.

But they were carefree, their moods rising and falling quickly.

Li Hua confidently patted Zhou Ke’s shoulder. “Ke, wait for good news from me!”

“How can you talk to me like that? No respect.”

“When this is over, I’ll take you to McDonald’s for a feast.”

“If you don’t abandon me, I’m willing to call you my sworn father!”

Zhou Ke had not expected much.

Unexpectedly, the results were surprising—Li Hua quietly revealed a Reason Power at level seven, a high-grade aptitude.

He became the second prodigy after Su Wumi, stealing the spotlight.

His rivals Liu Xing and Antonini were gnashing their teeth in envy.

Unfortunately, Li Hua’s awakened Truth was not particularly astonishing; it was a roughly made book with few pages, resembling a discarded magazine.

Its title was The Extremely Powerful and Practical No-Limits Combat Technique, author unknown.

Zhou Ke felt he had heard of this book somewhere before.

Apparently, on Earth’s internet, netizens joked that some sect’s fundamental teaching was “Criminal Law,” the only sect with a recorded killing since the founding of the nation.

“Oh, this Truth isn’t exciting at all. Maybe I’ll have to go home and inherit the family business.”

Li Hua scratched his golden hair as he returned, the Truth still floating behind him.

This did not make him seem like a profound mage, but rather a street magician trickster.

“It seems that reading dirty books and being selfish really brings retribution, hahaha,” Zhou Ke glanced at the yellowed cover and mercilessly teased.

Their relationship was that of teasing and mocking close friends.

Getting along with each other was far more comfortable than dealing with hypocritical, honey-tongued “intimate confidants.”

“This can’t be serious. I’d actually prefer it if it awakened The Plum in the Silver Vase—I’d at least have something to read.”

Li Hua appeared nonchalant; in every profession, there are masters.

Truth was merely a bonus, not an absolute necessity.

His reasoning was sensible, considering that most of the world’s population remained ordinary folk.

“Next, Zhou Ke.”

“Finally, it’s my turn,” Zhou Ke heard his name and bumped fists with Li Hua before stepping onto the flag-raising platform.

He did not rush to be tested but first greeted the stern Whalebrow examiner beside him.

“Good afternoon, teacher.”

While speaking, he tidied up fragmented memories.

He recalled that aptitude was divided into nine levels, three levels per grade. Reason Power levels one to three were low, four to six medium, and seven to nine high.

The higher the aptitude, the more efficient the decoding of Truth, the faster the absorption of aether, and the greater the difference in self-improvement speed.

“Hmm, good,” Whalebrow responded indifferently but secretly felt some liking—Zhou Ke was the first student to greet him.

Zhou Ke finished organizing his thoughts, nodded, and muttered to himself:

“I should have innate full aptitude, then a twin Truth, then next chapter ‘Revive, my beloved book!’”

“...”

Only Whalebrow could hear this; he withdrew his fondness and typed a question mark, as if to say, “Student, are you in the wrong scene?”

“You test first,” Whalebrow said, unsure how to respond.

“Oh, okay.”

Zhou Ke paused and chose not to place his hand on the upper half of the globe that many had already touched, but instead reached for the lower half.

His posture was somewhat sly.

Whalebrow’s brow twitched and he couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing? Molesting a stone carving?”

“Ah, I’m a bit of a neat freak, and I’m wary of places many people have touched,” Zhou Ke said calmly, playing with the surface a little more.

“...”

Breathing in and out, Whalebrow refocused—work was important, no need to mind him.

He looked up at the clear planetary ring extending from the globe and, as expected, regretfully announced:

“Reason Power level one, low aptitude.”

“Ah...”

Hearing the result, Zhou Ke’s expression remained unchanged—neither sorrowful nor joyful.

He accepted the outcome calmly.

He was a person who adapted to circumstances; he did not obsess over facts beyond human control.

Better to cherish what one has than pine for what one cannot have.

Many failed to understand this principle, forever chasing others’ blessings and forgetting their own.

In the end, even their remaining blessings were lost.

There is a saying: After having abundance, one forgets to restrain; when no way forward lies ahead, one wishes to turn back.

The human heart is endlessly insatiable.

“Not disappointed?”

Whalebrow, noticing Zhou Ke’s calm demeanor, asked curiously.

He had expected Zhou Ke, who had boasted so much, to be crushed by the stark contrast.

“I am disappointed,” Zhou Ke turned and looked at the indifferent teachers and students on the field.

“Extremely disappointed. No one even mocked me—how am I supposed to prove them wrong or soar to greatness? Without a thrill, how can the audience be convinced?”

Most students bowed their heads, praying to appear natural on stage and avoid embarrassment.

The braver ones looked up silently or chatted quietly with their neighbors.

It was like being called on in class to recite; whether one knew the answer or not, everyone hoped they wouldn’t be picked.

This was the norm in the world—other people’s fortunes matter little.

Only shameless, carefree ones like Zhou Ke and Li Hua could laugh.

“Really very disappointed.” Zhou Ke clenched his fist tightly and sighed deeply.

Whalebrow was speechless. Everyone else hoped to shine, but Zhou Ke seemed eager to be mocked.

“This kid... must be abnormal,” he thought.

Still, Whalebrow admired Zhou Ke’s indifferent approach and nodded silently.

“Come to the second stone carving, awaken your belonging Truth.”

Zhou Ke approached the book-page sculpture, observed for a moment, then chose a part distant from common thoughts below to touch.

Whalebrow twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Gray mist silently spread, and a slightly thin, dusty ancient book appeared above Zhou Ke’s head. Its cover was deep gray with silver letters.

“Candidate Zhou Ke, awakening Truth: The Boy Who Cried Wolf, author Aesop.”

Whalebrow felt a pang of regret upon seeing the title.

If it had been the entire Aesop’s Fables, that would have been better, but it was only one short story.

The growth ceiling was thus fixed.

“Not bad. Once you fully decode the Truth, you should reach the level of a ‘Candlewick’ grade mage,” Whalebrow comforted, recording the information on his tablet. Then he asked, “Now tell me, what is the specific ability of your Truth?”

“...”

[You are guilty.]

Zhou Ke did not respond—or rather, he did not hear Whalebrow’s words at all. A hateful, strange voice filled his mind, indistinguishable in gender.

The voice dragged his soul into a chaotic, pitch-black ocean, filled with sin and horror.

Pale snowflakes floated upward and fell as if fragments of a collapsing world.

Looking closely, they were neither snowflakes nor fragments but one word after another.

Each word etched with sin, each word... guilty!

On the ground were countless bloody hands entangled in iron thorns, crawling and swaying as if trying to drag people into the abyss.

At the center of the bloodied hands floated a book.

Its cover completely black, with holy white letters—Crime and Punishment, by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

“This is... the second Truth?”