Mu Sichen hesitated, holding the book. He was terrified that stepping directly into it would mean facing the remnant power of the Sky Eye head-on. If the library held a contingency plan for the Eye’s resurrection, entering the wrong book might lead to being devoured by it, turning his hard-earned power into fuel for the God’s resurrection.

Yet, on second thought, if the Sky Eye’s power hidden in the library was so easily found, Shen Jiyue wouldn’t have spent so many days struggling to turn the library from a Crescent to a First Quarter. There was danger, certainly, but he should be able to withstand it.

With that realization, Mu Sichen opened the book.

It was indeed a bedtime story, a cartoonish one with colorful illustrations and only one sentence per page.

It told the tale of a man who saved a group of wounded people, and they all lived happily in a safe haven. But they could never leave, for the outside world was filled with monsters that would eat them.

Yet, people always tried to escape, and people always died. The family members would ask the protagonist, “Why couldn’t you protect us? Why do people keep dying?”

The protagonist was heartbroken. He couldn’t watch over everyone every second of the day; he couldn’t take care of every detail. What was he to do?

So, the protagonist made a wish: he wished his eyes could hang in the sky, allowing him to see everyone in his family at all times.

From that day on, his eyes grew larger and larger, and his field of vision widened. Finally, his physical body vanished completely, and he became a massive eye hanging in the sky, protecting all his family members. If any family member refused to listen, he would turn them into an eye, too, to show them how terrifying the outside world was.

From then on, the family members stopped running away, and they lived happily ever after in their haven.

The story was short, only a few brief sentences. Mu Sichen closed the book with a complex expression. Anyone could see that this book didn’t accurately depict the full story of Bright-Eye Town and the Sky Eye. While it was likely whitewashed, part of it was true.

Mu Sichen himself had nearly been re-polluted by the residents. He wondered if the same had happened to the Sky Eye—originally just wanting to protect the townspeople, only to be crushed by impossible expectations, ultimately driving the God to madness.

If the truth was indeed as recorded in this bedtime story, it was a tragic tale. But for Mu Sichen, the most important thing at that moment wasn’t the truth; it was that he hadn’t entered the book.

Sighing, Mu Sichen put the storybook down. He had assumed he could enter any book just by opening it, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

Did I pick the wrong book?

Mu Sichen skipped past the stories that obviously related to the Outer Gods, such as “A Few Things About Me and the Moon,” “An Ideal Home in My Dreams,” and “After Growing Tentacles, I Can Finally Embrace All of Humanity.” He focused instead on finding the book He Fei had been in.

After searching for a long time, he finally found the book titled “The Little Rainbow Fish.”

Just then, He Fei sent another message:

Your Brother Fei: From planting to share price collapse, why is a coffee bean’s life journey so tumultuous?

Mu Sichen: “…”

While he was struggling to find a way into the books, He Fei had already moved on to social science literature.

Mu Sichen opened “The Little Rainbow Fish.”

The story told of a mother fish who gave birth to a litter of nine rainbow fish. All the others were colorful and beautiful, except for the protagonist, who was black, with only a single, diamond-shaped, multicolored spot on its head.

The little black fish was insecure. It never understood why it was different from its siblings and asked its mother why all day long. But how could the mother fish understand such a complex question? She simply told it, “You are the ugliest little rainbow fish.”

The next page was strange. It read: After receiving the answer, the little black fish lost all motivation. Understanding how it was different from the others, it sadly left the school of fish and was eventually caught and served on a dinner table.

It was a bleak and dark bedtime story. However, a red “X” had been drawn over this page, as if negating this ending.

Mu Sichen turned to the next page and saw the story changed: After receiving the answer, the little black fish didn’t stop asking questions. It swam around its mother, asking, “Mom, if I’m the ugliest rainbow fish, do I have any other strengths?” “Mom, am I the strongest rainbow fish?” “Mom, am I the cutest rainbow fish?” “Mom, am I the smartest rainbow fish?”

The mother fish finally got annoyed and shouted, “Yes, you are the smartest little rainbow fish! Now stop bothering me!”

Receiving its answer, the little black fish became very proud. Every day, it swam around with its chest puffed out, becoming the most beautiful and unique black fish in the aquarium. Every tourist who came here wanted to see this clever fish and fed it food. It lived a proud and happy life.

Mu Sichen: “…”

He was sure he had found the right book. This was the key—the question, “Mom, am I the smartest little rainbow fish?”, was the turning point that changed the ending.

Mu Sichen still couldn’t enter the book, but he vaguely realized the key to it. Perhaps it was the act of negating the ending that allowed He Fei to enter the story.

The “Pillars” were energy beings that thrived on emotional energy. They perceived emotions very intensely. Back at the nursing home, the moment the three of them produced even a tiny bit of despair, the Pillar had caught it and focused its gaze on them.

Emotions were a crucial element. When he read the bedtime story about the Sky Eye, he had only felt a sense of melancholy. That obviously didn’t meet the Pillar’s conditions, so it hadn’t allowed him to enter.

What kind of emotion was right? A spirit of rebellion against fate? Mu Sichen didn’t think so. Whether it was the Sky Eye, Shen Jiyue, or even Qin Zhou, they would not allow a spirit of strong resistance in their domains; it would shake their foundation. Submission, faith, and respect were what they needed.

What emotion had allowed He Fei to enter the book?

Mu Sichen flipped through the two endings of “The Little Rainbow Fish” several times, but still couldn’t find the answer. He put that book down and opened another, the familiar tale of “Cinderella.” After reading it, Mu Sichen tried evoking empathy, kindness, and wit, but nothing triggered the condition to enter the book.

He quickly scanned several books to no avail, while He Fei was already researching how to build massive muscles. Mu Sichen felt that if He Fei stayed in the game much longer, he would quickly become a scholar.

Since deliberately cultivating emotions didn’t work, he decided to let nature take its course. He would read a vast amount of books and produce different emotions; surely one of them would be correct.

Bedtime stories were the shortest books. If he skimmed fast, he could finish one in less than a minute. Mu Sichen decided to stay put in the bedtime story section. After reading a few more, he daringly opened “A Few Things About Me and the Moon.”

This story detailed a person’s psychological state across the four phases of the moon: Crescent, First Quarter, Half, and Full. From emotional stability during the Crescent phase to seeming ambition—but actual insanity—during the Full Moon, it perfectly demonstrated how a person goes insane.

Mu Sichen’s takeaway was that the Moon was indeed the Outer God most likely to corrupt people. The protagonist had only looked up at the new moon and hoped for the full moon’s glory before being corrupted. It was truly terrifying. Just finishing the book made Mu Sichen feel mentally tainted; he needed to wash his eyes.

He put the book back and opened “After Growing Tentacles, I Can Finally Embrace All of Humanity.”

Mu Sichen believed this book was most likely related to Qin Zhou. He had entered the Boundary Domain relying on the little octopus’s power; to alleviate the pollution caused by the Moon, he naturally had to seek help from Qin Zhou. Furthermore, one of Shen Jiyue’s titles was “The Mental Controller,” while Qin Zhou’s was “The Absolute Rationalist.” Literally speaking, Qin Zhou’s power faintly countered Shen Jiyue’s.

This book was the best choice.

Mu Sichen opened the book and was immediately met with the image of a tall man with sword-like eyebrows, bright eyes, and rugged features—a face that radiated a sense of security. The illustration was highly realistic, looking almost like a real person.

Mu Sichen felt as though he had unexpectedly seen Qin Zhou’s true appearance.

Before he could even look at the words below the drawing, Mu Sichen was captivated by the image. He had dealt with Qin Zhou quite a bit but had never seen his true form—only totems, a cute little octopus, a cute little tentacle, and a tall man hidden in the mist.

What did the real Qin Zhou look like? Was he just like the painting? How tall was he? Based on the proportions in the painting, he must be almost 1.9 meters tall. Did this painting truly capture him, or was it beautified?

Mu Sichen’s finger subconsciously drifted toward the face in the illustration. The next second, the environment around him shifted.

The storybook vanished, the bookshelves vanished, leaving only a desolate wasteland and an endless sense of grief in his heart.

He was inside the book!

Although he didn’t know which emotion had triggered it, he had successfully entered. And he had become Qin Zhou.

Yes, he was the protagonist of this book. He hadn’t even read what the story was about or how it was supposed to unfold—based on a single picture, he had been pulled in.

Mu Sichen was stunned.

Then he realized he was standing on a high hill. A group of people stood below, looking up at him with hope in their eyes. He recognized one of them: Yao Wangping.

“Admiral Qin, this is our town. Please name it,” said a man who looked like a leader.

Mu Sichen had no choice but to imitate Qin Zhou’s voice, speaking with calm and majesty. “What is your wish?”

“I hope that through our hard work, humanity can finally escape the effects of the Cataclysm and live a peaceful, safe life,” the man said.

“Then let it be called Xiangping Town,” Mu Sichen said. This time, he didn’t move; his body automatically made the sound.

From that sentence onward, Mu Sichen felt he had lost control of his body, becoming a spectator watching the bedtime story unfold from afar.

“Good!” The man raised his hand. “This is where we settle down, and it is the starting point for humanity to rebuild its home!”

The crowd cheered.

At this point, Yao Wangping approached “Qin Zhou.” At this time, Yao Wangping wasn’t yet so cold and heartless; his eyes were filled with complex emotions. He raised three fingers on his right hand, pressed them to his forehead, and bowed deeply.

He said to “Qin Zhou,” “Admiral Qin, if you can make the world return to normal and let humanity live the way it did before the Cataclysm, please take my life and use it as you see fit.”

Others echoed Yao Wangping. Countless people said to “Qin Zhou,” “Please take our lives and use them; we volunteer.”

Endless anticipation flooded “Qin Zhou” like a tide. He was engulfed by these expectations, unable to stand firmly, unable to even breathe. And these souls, voluntarily offered to him, were so delicious, like desserts within easy reach.

“Qin Zhou’s” throat moved as he swallowed. He quietly closed his eyes, no longer gazing at those souls.

“I will protect you,” “Qin Zhou” said slowly, making a promise.

At that moment, what the others heard was a promise, but Mu Sichen heard the words Qin Zhou could not speak out loud: “I will protect you, and will not let any Outer God harm you—including myself.”

Along with that sentence, all emotions vanished from him. Whether it was desire or wishes, all were wiped away. Within his soul, only the promise remained.

From that moment on, he became Him—

Author’s Note:

Qin Zhou: I erased my “Self.”

Little Octopus: Mu Sichen awakened my “Self.”

This storybook won’t be too long; we can finish it next chapter. The focus isn’t the little octopus, but clearing the instance!