Chapter Two: The Doctrine of Fate, Altered Destiny!

After a casual dinner, Zhu Lan returned to his rented apartment and sat on his bed, sinking into deep thought.

The death of Yu Tiansheng had shaken Zhu Lan profoundly. If he had not seized Yu Tiansheng's fate, he would never have paid attention to his death. But Zhu Lan understood all too well: he had taken the Illusion System that should have belonged to Yu Tiansheng, and the very next day, Yu Tiansheng was dead. Though Zhu Lan knew little about the details, he sensed that Yu Tiansheng’s death had been terrifying.

“Fate, is it? Then what about my own fate?” The thrill of acquiring the Illusion System was quickly cooled by the reality of Yu Tiansheng’s demise.

Every person is born with a thread of fate, present from the moment of their birth. When a thread with the potential to change a life vanishes or is severed, the person might suffer grave injury, death, or even be reduced to a vegetative state.

No matter how one looked at it, the Illusion System was an existence capable of changing not just a person, but a nation, a planet, even an entire star system. The terror of fate had killed Yu Tiansheng outright.

Zhu Lan cared little for Yu Tiansheng’s death; what troubled him was how his own thread of fate would now be altered.

He came from a family of little means; his ancestors, not just three generations but ten, had been farmers, with perhaps one merchant who quickly fell into decline. According to the study of fate, his future would be hard to change no matter how hard he tried.

But now, having seized Yu Tiansheng’s fate and strengthened his own thread, his destiny was already changed—he was stepping into a deeper world.

According to fate theorists, every individual’s thread is different, and the collective threads of all people, animals, and plants weave a vast, unfathomable web. Humans have threads of fate, as do animals, as does even the tiniest blade of grass.

These threads continually advance, intertwining with others.

For instance, over the course of a day, the path a person walks can cross tens of thousands of threads—human, animal, or plant.

Whenever two fate threads cross, friction occurs: meeting a stranger, stroking an animal, plucking a blade of grass—all are intersections of fate.

A normal person’s thread will cross others only billions of times in a lifetime. Each person moves outward from the web’s center in a straight line, so their thread intersects with relatively few others. But when one becomes a tycoon, an official, or a celebrity, their thread twists and turns.

If the fate web is measured in terms of hundreds of millions of circles, then walking straight one might only intersect a few billion threads. But if one lingers in a circle or takes half a circle before entering the next, the intersections in a lifetime can reach tens or hundreds of billions, even into the trillions—because such a life touches and affects so many.

This can also be seen as a measure of fortune. Yet, in these constant crossings, accidents may arise, and when a thread is broken, it can go no further—signifying the death of that person, animal, or plant.

Recalling the lore of fate, Zhu Lan’s head throbbed, yet he was also relieved—his intuition told him that his own thread had changed.

Since childhood, Zhu Lan had felt something unusual. It wasn’t until university that he realized others experienced it, too: a sense called the seventh sense, found less than once in a hundred million people.

Each person is a living radar, constantly receiving information—bright (sight), dark (hearing), subtle (feeling), and primal (atomic-level electromagnetic waves). Countless signals form a network.

Some people have extraordinary eyesight, able to see much farther than most. This is the seventh sense. The same applies to hearing, touch, and perception of atomic waves—some people’s abilities far surpass the norm. This is the seventh sense, which manifests in various ways, such as foreseeing danger.

When your senses are acute, you can feel someone watching you from thousands of meters away. When a bullet is fired at you, you sense it the moment it leaves the barrel. Most people experience this only briefly, but for a select few, this sensitivity is permanent.

When these senses exceed the ordinary by tenfold or more, they can be considered a kind of supernatural power.

“My head hurts!” Zhu Lan clutched his hair, realizing that life had been simpler before he obtained the Illusion System. Now, just as life was supposed to begin, everything had changed.

Fate was too mysterious. Zhu Lan resolved to stop thinking about it.

But the marvels of the Illusion System—those, he was eager to try.

Picking up his phone, he glanced at the dozen missed calls and shook his head. He had been so absorbed in studying the Illusion System that he’d forgotten about work. Zhu Lan didn’t dwell on it; with the Illusion System, that job was already a thing of the past.

He looked at his computer, opened Youku, and stared in silence at the thousands of movies available.

There was no denying the power of Illusion Technology—but Zhu Lan didn’t know what he needed right now.

Years in society had taught him: life at the bottom was like slavery, and even when you reached the middle, the powerful would still crush you. In China, there is a saying: if you wish to go far, you must have a strong backer.

No matter the industry or the path, success requires connections.

Zhu Lan understood that the moment he obtained the Illusion System, his path diverged; whether he liked it or not, he would be drawn into dealings with the powerful and the wealthy, both in the private and official sectors. With a population of 1.4 billion, China saw millions die every day; one person more or less meant nothing. The powerless could be condemned on the flimsiest of charges.

At this thought, Zhu Lan’s headache worsened. He was just an ordinary man, with only the faintest connection to power—some distant relative served as a mayor’s secretary, but that had nothing to do with him.

“First, strengthen myself? Support is necessary; I must change my identity.” Zhu Lan calculated his options.

There were many films about enhancing oneself with technology, but with the Illusion System only just activated, he lacked the energy for anything so advanced.

In the Illusion Galaxy, the Illusion System was a biological system bound from birth. Out of concern that infants couldn’t wield such power, it was restricted from producing overly destructive or high-energy items. Imagine a two- or three-year-old summoning a black hole bomb—the consequences would be unimaginable.

Thus, as time passed after activation, one could access increasingly advanced and powerful technology—starships, for instance, would require a decade before Zhu Lan could hope to call one forth.

He opened Baidu, searching for options that might suit him.

After looking through more than a dozen, he found nothing suitable and continued his search with patience.

Suddenly, his attention settled on the props list from the “Resident Evil” films.

A thought struck him: though the information about the Illusion Galaxy civilization in the Illusion System was vague, he knew it was a highly advanced society.

The Illusion System lacked an AI assistant; this was because the people of the Illusion Galaxy possessed bio-brains as capable as intelligent computers, and with time, their brains became even more powerful.

By adulthood, a citizen of the Illusion Galaxy could control the movement, attack, and defense of an entire battle fortress with their mind alone.

Their civilization had been in the interstellar age for millions of years. Battle fortresses were planetary at minimum, often as large as the sun, and their internal warfare and operations required at least a galaxy-class AI—showing the immense power of an Illusion Galaxy brain.

If the Illusion Galaxy was so advanced, their bodies could not be weak.

Zhu Lan had been searching by his own standards, ignoring the fact that the Illusion System originated from the Illusion Galaxy. He needed to adjust his criteria accordingly.

Which meant...

He opened “Resident Evil.”

Five hours later, Zhu Lan had watched all five “Resident Evil” films. Deep in his mind, he felt an unusual sensation.

He replayed the first film, watching the opening scene where the robotic arms handle the virus and the antidote. His eyes flashed; space around him warped, and a shape slowly materialized on the table.

The outline gradually solidified.

A metal case appeared on the table, pressing down on the keyboard and hitting the Enter key. The movie paused, freezing on a shot of a metal case identical to the one now before him.

Zhu Lan’s face turned pale, but then he smiled.

Though the Illusion System was powerful, it required energy—mental energy, specifically.

Zhu Lan was but an ordinary man; his mental energy was not particularly strong. The system’s draw upon him felt as if he had not rested for days, leaving him nearly depleted.

His mind grew hazy. “Not good,” he thought.

He hadn’t expected that summoning just the case containing the virus and antidote would consume so much mental power. Though he’d been somewhat prepared, the growing drowsiness alarmed him. He hurriedly shut down the computer, forced himself to his feet, grabbed the metal case, and, barely staying upright, staggered to the bed, shoving the box beneath it with all his remaining strength. Smiling, he collapsed onto the bed.

With his mental energy exhausted, Zhu Lan’s instincts plunged him into sleep to recover. He didn’t know that as he drifted off, a glowing orb emerged once more from his body, hovering at his forehead. The pain faded, his features relaxed, and he slipped into a deep and peaceful slumber.