Long Nation Intelligence Department.
On a massive circular screen, the "Sky Eye" satellite was performing frantic calculations with sub-meter precision. Suddenly, a red frame locked onto a fast-moving pixel, which was immediately magnified. The moment the technician saw the face, his pupils constricted.
"Quick! Report this to the top immediately!" He stared unblinkingly at the monitor, hands hovering over the keyboard. Even if it was only a profile view, he dared not relax for a single second.
Long Nation Underground Command Center.
The faint aroma of tea felt thin under the powerful suction of the climate control system. At the head of the table, the Elder unhurriedly picked up his teacup, his other hand casually playing with the orange orb of light that was driving the world to madness.
"Put those expressions away; I'm not dead yet." The Elder set down his cup and teased his subordinates, whose eyes were red with emotion. "What, you think this old man can't handle a simple call?"
His tone shifted, becoming candid. "I dare say that in this life, aside from eating meat, I have never mistreated a single living creature. If the Beast God really wants to take me down just because of a bit of appetite, then I, for one, will not go quietly."
He smiled, his eyes clear. "Besides, what if She appreciates this old man and wants to give me a reward during the call? Let's look on the bright side."
The tension in the air was sliced open by this bit of humor, and someone couldn't help but let out a snicker. The Elder glared playfully. "Is it that funny? Who are you looking down on?"
He cleared his throat, his natural majesty returning. "Back to business. Rescue operations, maintaining stability, and figuring out how to integrate the divine 'Causality Transfer' mechanism into our social security—these are all uphill battles. We cannot have chaos. Send these orders out immediately."
He then turned the conversation. "Old Jiang, Old Qin, what about your side?"
Old Jiang, a white-haired theology expert, adjusted his glasses, his voice raspy. "Chief, the Theology and History teams have been working for 120 hours. From the Classic of Mountains and Seas to the Baopuzi, and even undeciphered ancient stone carvings—'She' does not align with any deity we have constructed in thousands of years. She requires no incense, no worship. She is like a coldly operating cosmic debugging program. The divinity She displays is closer to a neutral 'Heavenly Dao Violent Repair Mechanism.' We have tried every prayer and ritual language, but... we cannot initiate communication with Her."
"The expert group speculates that She either disdains dialogue with secular power, or, in Her eyes, there are no borders—only 'Causality'."
The sound of breathing was the only noise in the command center. The Elder's words were like a boulder dropped into a deep pool, creating ripples regarding the "fate of humanity."
"Only Causality..." The Elder stood up slowly, walked to the large screen, and stared at the global migration map marked with red dotted lines. His gaze was as deep as the ocean, as if he could see through the cold pixels to the struggle of billions of souls under these rules.
"Old Jiang, you said She is like a 'debugging program.' Then in Her eyes, are we humans—who claim to be the masters of civilization—indispensable operating code for this planet, or... just a segment of logical redundancy that must be erased?"
Old Jiang fell silent. His hand trembled slightly as he held his glasses. He replied dryly, "Chief, if She truly only looks at Causality, then we are facing the most just, yet most cruel, reckoning in human history. Because 'Causality' knows no sentiment and recognizes no titles."
The Elder nodded and was about to speak when a piercing alarm cut through the tea aroma.
"Report—!" The technical director rushed into the meeting room, drenched in sweat, his voice shaking. "'Sky Eye' has captured that person's silhouette in the Southwest. It's... that Sato!"
The screen flickered to life.
The youth with the cold skin was currently curled up in a car's backseat, his eyes so clear they were almost transparent. He was staring blankly at the mountains and rivers of the Long Nation outside the window. His cramped, curious, and somewhat homesick demeanor created a jarring sense of dissonance for everyone present.
"He actually came to the Long Nation," one official sighed. "Seeing that murderer's face showing the eyes of a small animal... I don't know if it's a miracle or a tragedy."
In the past few days, the Intelligence Department had thoroughly investigated the original Sato's life. They discovered his codename on the Dark Web: "No. 11 Scalpel." That account had posted 212 animal abuse and slaughter videos, each stripping away life with extreme cruelty.
He truly enjoyed the process—in the videos, you could clearly hear his laughter and see his eyes crinkle with joy; sometimes he even hummed a pleasant tune. Against the background noise of animals' dying screams, it was a chilling realization: this man truly viewed life as nothing more than blades of grass.
But the irony was stark. As a Nobel Prize laureate of the Green Pheasant Country, another part of Sato's experimental archives held the quiet records of 162 laboratory animals. Those 162 lives had contributed to a landmark drug for all mankind.
At that moment, everyone in the command center understood. She was not targeting those who took life for survival or scientific progress; She was targeting the demons who found joy in it—those who trampled on the sanctity of life.
"Chief, I propose we immediately dispatch an expert team to make contact!" A young official stood up urgently, his voice sharp with excitement. "Zhizhi is the first 'Exchanger' selected by the deity. He is the only 'living divine specimen' we can reach. If we can convey our sincerity to the Beast God through him..."
At that moment, a deep-eyed senior official received an urgent email. After reading it, he countered immediately: "I disagree."
He looked at the young official. "He is simply returning to his 'home'—the sanctuary of his soul. To him, a human 'expert team' might look no different from the white coats in that laboratory. If we rush in now, is it communication or intimidation? We must observe and understand exactly what he intends to do in the Long Nation before we formulate a plan."
The Elder turned to the senior official. "How do you know he is going 'home'?"
"I saw him with a woman in a dream, so I ordered an investigation the moment I woke up," the official replied, his hands moving quickly over his keyboard. He pulled up a file, and the screen displayed the personal profile of Tian Shuangxin, along with her pet purchase records and photos.
Suddenly, everyone understood.
"But this is too slow!" the young official cried, pointing at the data charts. "Global productivity has plummeted. Everyone is watching the livestream. If this continues, the future of humanity..."
"That is still better than provoking a deity," another official said coldly. "Can you guarantee he will help us? If he feels he is being monitored or used, the consequences might be more than we can bear."
The argument went back and forth until all eyes landed on the Elder at the head of the table. He stared at the "Sato" on the screen—the boy who was currently rubbing his nose, looking restless and awkward. A flash of kindness and sigh-filled reflection crossed the Elder's eyes.
"He has suffered enough. He is not the source of all evil, and he is certainly not an experimental specimen. Issue the order: keep all surveillance along his route at the highest level—observe only, do not interfere," the Elder decided. "Since we are to think with the logic of a God, let us fulfill his Causality. If he wants to go home, we will let him finish this journey in peace. As for human productivity..."
The Elder smiled meaningfully. "If the heart is not upright, then no matter how much we produce, we are merely creating more demons like the original Sato."
As the orders were issued, the special police units preparing to intercept the vehicle suddenly received retreat commands, replaced by a silent escort.
Just as the Long Nation leadership reached their consensus, the "Ding" of the global livestream rang out like the sharp scrape of a scythe against glass, making everyone's hair stand on end.
"Connection—Activated."
Qinghong was adjusting her posture; sitting on the jade chair for so long had made her numb. Suddenly, her eyes sharpened, and her stunning face became deep and icy. Devoid of human emotion, she began accessing the residual memory fragments of the body she inhabited.
The screen flickered, and Mrs. Zhu appeared in the center. She was sitting on a rosewood chair worth millions, staring in terror at the orange orb floating in front of her, her hands clutching an ostrich-skin handbag with a death grip.
Her first words were a sharp interrogation: "You aren't my daughter! Where is my daughter? What have you done to her?"
Mrs. Zhu's voice was so shrill it nearly pierced the screen. She glared at Qinghong's face, her manicured fingers squeezing the ostrich leather until it was deformed.