There was no path in the Seventh Layer.
There was only an altar.
The altar stood in the middle of the snow, surrounded by black Anchor Nails, each engraved with Lu Wenchuan's name. A groove lay in its center, shaped exactly like his Fate Line. There was no blood in the groove, yet it gave off a faint red glow, as though it had been waiting a long time.
Lu Wenchuan's hospital bed stopped before the altar.
Xu Zhihan stood beside him. The snow beneath his feet was thin and made no sound when he stepped on it. Communications had cut out after they entered. In the Seventh Layer, there were no sounds of instruments from outside, nor any of Song Zhixia's cursing.
Lu Wenchuan looked at the altar.
"Quite the ceremony."
Xu Zhihan said coldly, "Are you trying to compliment it?"
"Just finding something to say."
"Shut up."
Lu Wenchuan fell quiet.
Phantoms slowly appeared at the altar's four corners.
Ji Heng stood on the left, still wearing the coat from the Church fire, with blood on his shoulder and the Old Scabbard in his hand.
Lin Wan stood on the right, holding the Silver Nameplate, her gaze gentle.
True Shen Cheng stood behind the altar, an old wound from Level B4 on his chest.
The last one was Xu Zhihan.
That Phantom wore long, snow-white robes, his expression indifferent, his features devoid of anything earthly. He stood below a long flight of steps, as though he might turn and walk toward the Divine Throne at any moment.
As Lu Wenchuan looked at the last Phantom, his expression darkened little by little.
Xu Zhihan raised his hand, blocking his view.
"Look at me."
Lu Wenchuan looked at him.
Xu Zhihan said, "He's fake."
"Mm."
"Don't just say 'mm.'"
Lu