Who Was He Thinking About?

Gods eat offerings too?
Gods?

Does such a thing as a god really exist in this world?
This wasn’t the first time Wen Zhaoyan had asked this question, nor the first time he’d had such doubts.

Looking at the message his grandfather had sent, Wen Zhaoyan’s gaze grew inscrutable. He told himself to believe in science—that there were no such things as ghosts or gods in this world.

But another voice in his mind whispered: ‘Have you forgotten where the little brat came from? Have you forgotten who Mo Li really is?’

Of course he hadn’t forgotten. Wen Zhaoyan had always remembered what the little brat had told him.

He said that when Earth was destroyed, he had died too, but for some reason, his soul had reincarnated into this era, becoming little Mo Bai.

If it had been before he’d met Mo Li, Wen Zhaoyan would have scoffed at such talk. Reincarnation? Souls? Who would believe that?

But after meeting Mo Li, he had no choice but to believe. He had witnessed the little brat’s uniqueness with his own eyes and heard him admit it with his own ears.

If there truly were no ghosts or gods, no phenomena beyond scientific explanation, then how could Mo Li’s existence be explained? His reincarnation into the little brat’s body was not something science could account for.

Wen Zhaoyan opened the chat, typed and deleted several times, before finally sending a single reply: [Got it.]

The old Marshal immediately called him. “Why are you suddenly looking into this?”

Wen Zhaoyan pressed his lips together. “I’ve been reading some ancient Earth history.”
He paused, then couldn’t help asking, “Do you believe in those legends?”

The old Marshal said casually, “Some things—if you believe, they exist; if you don’t, they don’t. There are plenty of things science can’t explain. Why overthink it?”

Wen Zhaoyan asked, “What things can’t science explain?”

The old Marshal said calmly, “Let me ask you—where did the mutated insectoids come from?”

Wen Zhaoyan: “The depths of space.”

The old Marshal: “From where exactly in the depths?”

Wen Zhaoyan was silent.

The old Marshal: “Why did they come? Why do they want to fuse with Uruk genes? Why do they want to fuse with human genes?”

Wen Zhaoyan remained silent.

The old Marshal: “Researchers say it’s to evolve, but why do they want to evolve? Who told them that fusing with our genes would make them evolve? Where were they hiding in the depths of space before? And just how vast are those depths…?”

Wen Zhaoyan fell silent.

The old Marshal nodded. “See? Those are all things science can’t explain. And we keep talking about the depths of space, but where exactly are they? No one can say for sure. Humans are so small, the universe so vast. Every planet has its own civilization—the Empire and Federation are human, the Uruk are sea monsters, the Giant Tree are tree people. So how can we be certain that on some other unknown planet, there are gods, ghosts, and other races we’ve never heard of?”

Having lived a long life and seen much, the old Marshal had long since seen through matters of life and death. The only thing he still cared about was his only grandchild, Wen Zhaoyan. There were many things in this world that, if you thought about them too deeply, became unsettling.

So it came back to the same thing: if you believed, they existed; if you didn’t, they didn’t.

Wen Zhaoyan was silent for a long time before finally speaking. “What if I told you that one is right beside me?”

Now it was the old Marshal’s turn to fall silent.

Wen Zhaoyan pressed his lips. “I think… he might really be a god.”
He didn’t specify who ‘he’ was, but it was clear he was referring to someone he knew.

Once he accepted that premise, Wen Zhaoyan realized he was more adaptable than he’d expected.

If there truly were gods in this world, was Mo Li one of them?

The old Marshal said flatly, “Are you running a fever?”

Wen Zhaoyan: “…What?”

The old Marshal: “You suddenly say something like that, and I thought you were sick.”

Wen Zhaoyan: “…”

The old Marshal: “Even if you are my grandson, I’m objective about things. If there were gods in this world, they wouldn’t be by your side.”

Wen Zhaoyan: “Reason?”

The old Marshal: “What have you got that would attract a god’s attention? Listen to your grandfather—if you’re tired, rest. Don’t overthink it.”

Wen Zhaoyan: “…”

The old Marshal was being honest. Because of his deep fascination with ancient Earth history, he knew more than most about its myths and legends. He truly didn’t believe that if gods existed, they would care about something as trivial as human love. Even though he acknowledged Wen Zhaoyan’s excellence, there were many excellent people in the world—he wasn’t the only one.

The old Marshal concluded: “It’s right that you don’t study ancient Earth history. Whenever you do, you start having strange thoughts. You should get some rest.”

Wen Zhaoyan said flatly, “Thank you.”

The old Marshal: “For what?”

Wen Zhaoyan: “This time, I believe there’s no god by my side. After all, other people’s children are always better than one’s own.”

The old Marshal: “…”

Only when the call ended did Wen Zhaoyan’s suspicion return. Once it took root, he couldn’t shake it.

He began frantically searching for records of gods from ancient Earth. He memorized every word, every description, and matched them one by one against Mo Bai.

There were similarities, and there were differences.

Earth’s history was far too ancient. In his research, he found that ancient Earth’s recorded history alone spanned several thousand years—and the existence of gods predated even that. So he couldn’t find anything useful.

—

At the research institute, Ying Xiangrong was troubled.

A friend of his had recently acquired a beloved disciple and kept finding excuses to show off.

Today: [Look, this is my disciple’s thesis. Have you seen it? What do you think of his research theory?]

Tomorrow, he’d send another veiled boast: [My disciple is incredible! He’s a genius—a genius born for this field!]

In the past, Ying Xiangrong had ignored those messages, blocked them, or at most replied with a curt “Oh” to acknowledge receipt.

But today was different.

His friend had accidentally included half the face of a young man in the message. The youth had delicate features without being effeminate, possessing a certain elegance. But that half-face looked oddly familiar.

Ying Xiangrong opened the thesis his friend had sent a few days ago and checked the name—he saw a familiar one: Little Green.

He raised an eyebrow. His friend was the dean of the Imperial First Military Academy. They were both leaders in the field of genetics and often discussed their work. Ever since gaining a disciple, the dean had been boasting non-stop. But more importantly, his precious disciple should have been at the academy.

Ying Xiangrong finally replied with more than two words: [Funny coincidence—I also have a Little Green here who’s quite impressive.]

[Reid: …]
[Reid: I almost forgot you were in the Rosseti Galaxy.]

Ying Xiangrong, ever sharp, sent back the photo showing half of Little Green’s face: [Even more coincidental—your Little Green looks exactly like mine.]

[Reid: …Damn, I forgot you were in the Rosseti Galaxy!]
[Ying Xiangrong: So, care to explain?]

Dean Reid felt sheepish. He’d been too eager to show off and had apparently exposed the Mo family brat. But then again, since Ying Xiangrong already knew about Little Green, and the brat had been making waves in the Rosseti, he would have been found out eventually.

[Reid: Ah… I suppose it doesn’t matter. The brat’s been so high-profile, he clearly doesn’t care about keeping his identity hidden.]
[Reid: His real name is Mo Bai. You know Mo Xiangtian, right? He’s that man’s son—the one who’s never shown his face.]

Now Ying Xiangrong was genuinely surprised: [That one who was always called simple?]

[Reid: Exactly. Every time someone calls him a simpleton, I can’t help but laugh. If that brat is simple, then this world has no geniuses.]

Then came Reid’s lengthy show-and-tell, summarizing Mo Bai’s record-breaking achievements since entering the Command Department, including the chaos he’d caused at school. He couldn’t stop talking about it.

By the time Ying Xiangrong finished reading about the brat’s campus exploits, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret—too bad the brat wasn’t in genetics, or he’d have wanted to take him as a disciple too.

With that thought, Ying Xiangrong left the lab and stopped at the sight of someone by the medical pod.

The young man was indeed good-looking, a pleasure to behold. But having learned from Reid about Mo Bai’s true appearance, Ying Xiangrong now feel that original face suited him better.

But the dean had said he’d had plastic surgery to look like the legendary Mo Li? Ying Xiangrong didn’t quite believe that. Based on his observations of ‘Little Green,’ he wasn’t someone particularly concerned with appearances.

So maybe he naturally looked like Mo Li? Ying Xiangrong guessed the brat might be a relative of Mo Li—similar enough that he’d claim to have undergone surgery to avoid unwanted attention.

He took off his coat and walked over to Mo Bai. “Checking on Duan Hui again?”

Mo Bai nodded, his brow slightly furrowed. “How’s he doing today?”
He could tell at a glance, but he still asked.

Ying Xiangrong said, “For someone with no brain and minimal bodily functions, he’s remarkably tenacious.”

It had been over ten days. Doctors had initially said that though Duan Hui’s heart had resumed beating, his brain was completely hollowed out, so he wouldn’t last long. But he’d held on for more than ten days.

Mo Bai visited almost every day.

Ying Xiangrong asked, “Are you close to him?”

Mo Bai shook his head. “Not really. But we were roommates for a while.” He’d only lived in the dorm for three days.

Ying Xiangrong nodded. “I see. What do you think is keeping him going?”

Mo Bai thought of something. The day he’d returned to the dorm, he’d seen Duan Hui burning incense. Duan Hui had said he’d enlisted to fulfill a wish—to find his brother who’d died on the battlefield, whose body had never been recovered. He’d followed his brother’s path, hoping to find him.

But Mo Bai hadn’t heard his heart’s voice. When Duan Hui had made his wish, he was already practically dead. Even if he’d burned incense and prayed, Mo Bai couldn’t receive his wish.

So though Mo Bai came every day and sent good fortune his way, Duan Hui remained the same.

Mo Bai sighed. “Maybe it’s for his brother.”

Ying Xiangrong: “His brother?”

Mo Bai explained Duan Hui’s reason for enlisting.

Ying Xiangrong said, “He’s a good kid.”

Mo Bai had an idea. “Can I take a strand of his hair?”

Ying Xiangrong said, “If you want to do a genetic test, that might not work. His brother died on the battlefield—not disappeared. Even if his genes are in the database, you wouldn’t find his body.”

Only the living could receive messages; the dead couldn’t.

Mo Bai shook his head. “It’s not a genetic test.”

Ying Xiangrong: “Then what?”

Mo Bai told the truth: “I want to try summoning his spirit.”

Ying Xiangrong: “…”
He stared. “Did I hear wrong, or did you say what I think you said?”

Mo Bai nodded. “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

Ying Xiangrong was speechless.

Mo Bai shrugged. “See? You don’t believe me.”

He gently pulled a strand of Duan Hui’s hair and left.

Shortly after, Ying Xiangrong called Dean Reid and ranted:

“I don’t know what you’re teaching at your school, but your students are becoming dangerously superstitious.”

Reid was confused: “What?”

Ying Xiangrong: “I’m talking about Mo Bai. What have you been teaching him?”

Reid said proudly: “Didn’t I tell you this morning? He’s from the Command Department—the youngest graduate ever. We’re making a promotional video about him. When it’s done, I’ll shove it in the face of anyone who says the Command Department is too hard!”

Ying Xiangrong said sarcastically: “The Command Department? I thought he was majoring in cult studies.”

Reid: “…What do you mean?”

Ying Xiangrong: “He just pulled a hair from a dying patient and said he was going to summon his spirit.”

Reid was silent for a moment, then said slowly: “Old Ying, there’s something else I forgot to mention about Mo Bai’s school days. He’s from the Sanatorium Planet, and the people there are very superstitious… though that’s not the point—everyone has their quirks. But the strange thing is, within three years of his enrollment, he had the entire academy acting like a bunch of zealots.”

Ying Xiangrong: “…??”

Reid said: “Yes, you heard right—it was him. It’s not our school’s fault! But you should be careful too—that kid brings his peculiarities wherever he goes. The Rosseti is about to become the next First Military Academy.”

Ying Xiangrong: “Impossible. The Crown Prince won’t allow it.”

Reid: “Are you sure?”

Ying Xiangrong: “Of course. His Highness has always hated cults. Back before his mental energy issues, he eliminated who knows how many of them—you must remember.”

Reid considered: “That’s true.”

Ying Xiangrong: “I’ll have His Highness talk some sense into the brat.”

They ended the call, and Ying Xiangrong went to find Wen Zhaoyan. Though Mo Bai wasn’t in genetics, the brat was too brilliant to let sink into superstition. Better to intervene early.

He set aside his things and headed to the command center.

Passing the training grounds, he saw Xixi directing the mermaids in drills with the soldiers.

It was a rest break. To have more to talk about with the mermaids, every soldier seemed to have an incense burner and three sticks of incense.

“Little fish, do you like the burner I made? Is this incense okay? There are so many varieties outside—I don’t know which one to buy.”
“Huanhuan! I prayed to the Wish-Granting God last night, and it really worked! You were right—that god is something else.”
“Little Wenwen, is this the right way to hold the incense? Do I bow three times? Should I stick these three sticks in the middle or somewhere else?”

Ying Xiangrong: “???”

Walking past the mech combat simulation pods, he overheard several mech pilots chatting.

“I finally understand why Admiral Kai burns incense before every mission. I tried it last night.”
“How did it go?”
“I wished I could beat my personal best today—and look at this score!”
“Whoa! 97.88% accuracy—that’s insane!”
“Right? I don’t know why, but I slept really well and felt so clear-headed today. And then my accuracy shot up.”
“I’m trying it tonight! I’m going to break your record!”

Ying Xiangrong: “…”

His expression grew grave. He had thought Dean Reid was exaggerating. Now he could see it wasn’t an exaggeration at all! The Mo family brat had been in the Rosseti for barely any time, and the entire military district had gone superstitious.

At least the soldiers were using prayer to improve their skills, not for anything ridiculous.

He had to report this to the Crown Prince immediately. This had to be stopped!

Arriving at the command center, he finally found Wen Zhaoyan.

The man sat back, his tall frame blocking the screens behind him. He was reading with a serious, focused expression—likely studying an important battle plan.

“Your Highness,” Ying Xiangrong called out, relieved to have found his pillar of support.

Wen Zhaoyan looked up from a thick stack of documents—a habit he’d picked up from his grandfather, who preferred physical books and papers. His dark eyes settled on Ying Xiangrong, and he nodded.

Ying Xiangrong began, “Your Highness, I have something important to discuss.”

Wen Zhaoyan set down the papers. “Go on.”

Ying Xiangrong began, “Your Highness, I’ve noticed a troubling trend in the base lately, especially—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes catching something on the desk.

There, on top of the stack of documents, was a file with bold titles:

*Detailed Introduction to the Gods of Ancient Earth*
*The Complete Myths and Legends of Earth’s History*
*Do You Have Faith? Revealing the Most Worshipped God in Ancient Earth—The God of Wealth!*
*Why Did Ancient Humans Love to Pray and Make Wishes at Temples?*

Ying Xiangrong: “…………”

Wen Zhaoyan looked up. “Why did you stop?”

Ying Xiangrong: He suddenly forgot what he was going to say.

Wen Zhaoyan: “What troubling trend?”

Ying Xiangrong: “…Never mind.”

He left the command center in a daze, fully convinced that Reid hadn’t exaggerated at all. The Mo family brat had turned the entire academy superstitious in three years—what was that compared to here?

He’d been in the Rosseti less than a month! And even the Crown Prince, who hated cults, was now reading mythology!

The Mo family brat was truly terrifying!

—

Thanks to the little mermaids, the soldiers, eager to please them, had learned their preferences. Once they discovered the mermaids liked burning incense and praying, the soldiers followed suit. In just a few days, Mo Bai received a massive influx of faith.

Whether because the mermaids were good at spreading the word or because the soldiers weren’t fully committed believers yet, every prayer was for something small—things Mo Bai could grant without expending much divine power. After enough answered prayers, word spread. Some who’d only done it to impress the mermaids began to believe, and their faith became purer.

Mo Bai took out the faith collector hanging around his neck. It was translucent, like a message bottle from ancient Earth. Now, it was full.

Over the past dozen years, more and more people had moved to the Sanatorium Planet, and most of the kind-hearted residents had become his believers.

When Liao Ze had taken home a koi, he’d vowed to build a golden statue for the Wish-Granting God. That statue now stood near Wen Zhaoyan’s former estate, in a temple Liao Ze had constructed. After all, you couldn’t have a golden statue without a temple to house it.

He’d hired historians to reconstruct an ancient Earth temple.

Unfortunately, the temple’s incense offerings were modest. Most visitors came to see the koi and would pray to the god, but few donated. A bit sad, really.

But that didn’t bother Mo Bai—he had his own offerings. The temple had other gods too, not just him.

Over a decade, his faith collector had nearly filled. Strangely, though it was full, nothing had happened.

“Why is this happening?”

Mo Bai was puzzled. Back on Earth, filling the faith collector during the probationary period meant you could become a full-fledged god. That faith collector held basic faith and filled quickly.

After promotion, the new collector held purer faith—from true believers. Like how some energy has impurities and some is pure. Pure faith is much harder to accumulate.

If you could fill that one, you’d receive your divine status and become a true god.

Mo Bai had once had divine status, but lost it upon reincarnation. He’d assumed that refilling the collector would restore it. But it had been full for two years, and his status hadn’t returned.

He poked the collector. “Did my divine status get lost?”

Or did he need to reform it? But divine status was tied to the soul. As long as his soul remained, it shouldn’t disappear.

He concluded: “It must have gotten lost during reincarnation.” Probably drifting somewhere in the cosmos.

He set aside the worry.

Late that night, Mo Bai found a secluded corner. He set up a table, laid out incense and a burner, and carefully placed the strand of Duan Hui’s hair.

He made a hand seal and began the spirit-summoning chant.

“Wandering soul, where do you linger…”

Wind stirred soundlessly. All around was still. Tree shadows swayed, adding a ghostly air. Only a small flame burned in the darkness.

The world seemed to hold only Mo Bai.

He waited quietly, watching the hair burn, but no spirit appeared.

He chanted again: “Duan Yi… Duan Yi… Return, oh soul…”

His eyes closed, his voice almost a murmur, echoing through the night.

A sudden noise broke the silence.

Mo Bai’s heart leaped—had Duan Yi’s soul returned?

But when he opened his eyes, he saw Kai, Zhou Yuexuan, and a lieutenant general sitting on the wall behind him, staring with a mix of confusion and alarm.

Mo Bai: “…”

Kai’s voice was shaky: “Wh-what are you doing?”
Had he heard correctly? Mo Li was calling for a soul?

Mo Bai paused, then blinked until his eyes reddened. He wiped away a tear. “Don’t misunderstand—I was praying to the Wish-Granting God to heal Duan Hui. We were roommates, you know, and the god is very effective.”

Kai sighed in relief: “Oh… that’s what it was. You scared me—it’s the middle of the night. I thought you were summoning ghosts.”

Mo Bai: “Impossible. There are no ghosts in this world. Don’t be so superstitious!”

The lieutenant general said weakly: “But isn’t praying to a god also superstitious?”

No one listened.

Mo Bai asked, “You scared me! Why are you here?”

Zhou said, “We were doing bed checks.”

Kai added, still shaken: “Yeah. We heard voices behind the wall, thought someone was sneaking around—gave me a fright.”

Mo Bai: “…”

He looked again—the hair had burned completely. Duan Yi’s soul hadn’t appeared; perhaps because of the disturbance. He’d have to try another night.

The inspection was over. Kai said, “Don’t scare people in the middle of the night. Go get some rest.”

Mo Bai: “Yes, sirs. Good night.”

“Good night.”

After they parted, Mo Bai didn’t return to his room.

Zhou noticed and followed him.

Mo Bai turned. “General Zhou, aren’t you going to rest?”

Zhou said, “What about you? Why aren’t you sleeping? Something on your mind? About your roommate Duan Hui?”

The command center didn’t have the same strict curfew as the soldiers—meetings and strategy sessions often ran late.

Mo Bai smiled. “No, I was just heading back.”

Zhou suddenly said, “Little Green… no, can I call you Mo Li?”

Mo Bai was surprised. “How did you know? Did someone tell you?”

Zhou admitted, “No. I guessed. From your relationship with the mermaids… it wasn’t hard.”

“Was it that obvious?” Mo Bai thought of Wen Zhaoyan, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Back then, Wen Zhaoyan had been the last to know—and even then, he’d tried to fool himself.

But then again, it made sense. Normal people wouldn’t connect a child to an adult. Now that he was disguised as Little Green, both forms were adult, and Mo Li was known to be beloved by the mermaids. Anyone who thought about it could guess who he was. Probably most of the base had already figured it out.

“You seem to have thought of something happy,” Zhou observed, good at reading people.

Mo Bai said, “It’s nothing much. Just remembered something about Wen Zhaoyan from before…”

They both paused, startled.

Mo Bai fell silent, his face flushing. Why had he suddenly thought of Wen Zhaoyan?

Zhou’s eyes dimmed with disappointment. “You’ve known the Crown Prince for a long time.”

Mo Bai said honestly, “Yes. Over a decade.”

Zhou: “He never mentioned you before.”

Mo Bai thought, ‘Who would want to bring up their embarrassing past?’

Zhou made a final attempt: “Does that mean I have no chance?”

Mo Bai feigned ignorance: “What?”

Zhou: “Mo Li, I may be 109, but I’ve never been in a relationship. You’re the first person who made me think marriage could be interesting. Do I have any chance to pursue you?

Mo Bai said politely, “I thought I already gave you a gentle refusal.”

Zhou smiled ruefully. “I had to try once more—in case I misunderstood.”

Mo Bai said firmly, “You didn’t misunderstand.”

Zhou: “Then are you rejecting me because you have someone you like?”
Mo Bai: “No.”
Zhou: “That means I still have a chance before you fall for someone else, right?”

Mo Bai shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you’re not my type.” No matter how much time passed, there was no chance.

Zhou, who considered himself reasonably attractive, was puzzled. “Then what is your type?”

Mo Bai didn’t know how to answer.
What was his type? He honestly didn’t know.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Zhou: “For example—do you prefer someone taller or shorter?”

Mo Bai answered instinctively: “Taller.”

Zhou: “Good-looking or just okay?”
Mo Bai: “Good-looking.”
Zhou: “Talkative or quiet?”
Mo Bai: “Quiet.”
Zhou: “Taller than you and handsome—so that rules out women.”

Mo Bai: “…?”

He replayed his answers and felt his face warm. Had he really said all that? But same-s*x marriage was common in the interstellar—anyone could marry anyone, across species even. Still, he’d never imagined his subconscious preferences were men. He’d always thought women were more adorable!

Zhou continued, “And you prefer quieter people. The fact that you immediately chose ‘quiet’ means you already have someone in mind—someone you feel more at ease with.”

Mo Bai: “…”

Zhou: “So, who were you thinking of just now?”