Chapter 31: Fortune and Life, Celestial Venerable of Mysterious Yellow (Requesting monthly votes and continued reading)

York’s first week in "Bel-Ami" passed in relative tranquility.

Every morning, he would read the papers, spending a few sous on various editions in an attempt to discern any differences in this world between the lines. Yet, strangely enough, it was a perfectly normal alternate reality: people waged war with firearms, engaged in affairs, bickered in parliament, and colonized Africa.

He occasionally checked the Deep Sea Forum for posts about the dungeon, but aside from one or two users showing off scenery or their observations from the African colonies, there was no sign of extraordinary power.

This was highly suspicious. The vortex formed by "Bel-Ami" was only slightly smaller than the one from "The Shibuya Incident." By all accounts, it shouldn't be this peaceful; there had to be a power present that they were unaware of, merely hidden in the depths.

On the weekend, the time agreed upon by Zhang Long, Chen Lai, and "Fierce Tiger" arrived. They gathered at the American Café to drink beer.

"Honestly, is this necessary? We could have conveyed any information through the friend interface."

Fierce Tiger, his sleeves stained with printer’s ink, looked listless. He hadn't been able to interact with his stream audience lately—though, to be fair, the audience was sparse to begin with.

"You don't understand, this adds a sense of ritual... Enter the game, enjoy the game, and treat every second as if it were the last second of your life. That way, you won't feel like you’ve wasted it."

Zhang Long—operating under the alias of a reporter for *The Life Gazette*—was impeccably dressed, sipping his rye beer. In truth, this setting didn't suit his persona; a middle-class gentleman like him would typically frequent the Musard Ballroom, the Parc Monceau, or at the very least, a fashionable brothel.

Chen Lai understood that this was Zhang Long’s way of reminding him that every game was a real life and this world was equally real. One should enjoy the journey through this alternate world, but be prepared to strike ruthlessly when necessary. After all, they were players, and players didn't care for martial virtue; as long as they could secure a "Unique" item, anything was worth it.

"Enough talk. Any notable details? I haven't gained much at the fencing studio, other than the occasional tip from a wealthy lady. It’s been quite unremarkable."

"I haven't got much either. Writing these 'Notes from African Service' every day is giving me a headache. Walter is generous with his pay, but the money doesn't carry over outside," Fierce Tiger muttered, slumped over the table, bored to tears.

"What about you?" Chen Lai turned to Zhang Long.

"I did stumble upon something." Zhang Long calmly adjusted his monocle and spoke with composure. "While I was organizing submissions for the religious column, I accidentally came across something rather unusual."

As he spoke, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It looked as if some sort of ritual array had been drawn on it; candles were placed at the four corners of a diamond shape. The names inscribed on three of the corners were illegible, but the name written on the final corner was simple and direct in Chinese.

"Heavenly Lord of Celestial and Benevolent..." Chen Lai squinted, pointing at the characters on the paper as he recited the name.

The next moment, he was struck with horror.

*Damn it!* What kind of "Bel-Ami" is this? Isn't this *Lord of the Mysteries*?

But that couldn't be right. If this were the world of *Lord of the Mysteries*, where were the seven orthodox churches? He had seen the map of this world; it was just the familiar world map. There was no Backlund here.

"Who submitted this 'fortune-turning' ritual?"

Chen Lai looked at Zhang Long, his tone urgent. He likely knew the source of the power in this dungeon and why not a single trace of extraordinary power could be found in daily life.

*Damn it,* stitching Lovecraft into a classic novel? Is the author a poet?

"You know this is a fortune-turning ritual? York, you are truly knowledgeable. I think you'd make a fine consultant at the Dumpling Academy." Zhang Long looked at Chen Lai with surprise. Before he could even name the ritual, Chen Lai had identified it instantly, proving he really knew his stuff.

"Out with it, quickly," Chen Lai urged impatiently, tapping his walking stick rhythmically against the table leg.

"Alright, alright. To be honest, I don't even know who sent this. Probably some occult enthusiast... there was no signature, and since the drawing was so crude, the editorial board threw it out during the screening process. That’s how I managed to snag it."

Zhang Long shrugged, pushing his unfinished rye beer away; it really wasn't very good.

"That’s all the intelligence I have. Aside from this, I’ve found nothing else. This dungeon is stranger than any I’ve seen before. It possesses power but refuses to show it, and the logical operation of the entire world is so normal... that in itself is an abnormality."

Zhang Long analyzed the situation from his perspective as a veteran treasure hunter, pushed the paper with the abstract array toward Chen Lai, and stood up.

"If you know something, go do it. To be a player is to dare to try. If you don't try, how will you ever hit the jackpot?"

"Go on then. When you make money, remember to V me 50 for Crazy Thursday."

With that, Zhang Long stood up, straightened his clothes, placed a few francs on the table, and walked straight out of the café.

"I don't know about anything else, Brother Weilong, but I know you're a capable man. I could tell back at the Shibuya Incident... Even if I haven't achieved anything, I’ve put in the hard work of flipping through newspapers for a week. I’m not good with flowery words, just V me 50 on Thursday."

The "Fierce Tiger" also rose and strode away. He had recently become obsessed with reviewing Parisian brothels at night, and his audience loved it. Today was Sunday; he could stream more of what everyone enjoyed.

After the two left, Chen Lai took the abstract drawing and, heavy with thought, took a carriage back to his apartment on the second floor of Labor Street. Below, the impoverished couple was arguing again, and their son was playing cricket alone by the street—a popular solo game in Paris.

He entered his room, rummaging through cabinets to find a few potatoes and a piece of black bread. Chen Lai ducked into the washroom with a kerosene lamp and his food. France was almost electrified by this era; aside from those in the provinces who couldn't afford a meal, who still used candles?

He took a deep breath, placed the kerosene lamp at the four corners of the diamond, set the food in the center, and took the first step.

"Heavenly Lord of Celestial and Benevolent."

There was no reaction. He took the second step, silently reciting:

"Heavenly Sovereign of Celestial and Benevolent."

Still no reaction. He took the third step, the Chinese name "Zhou Mingrui" involuntarily appearing in his mind.

"Heavenly God of Celestial and Benevolent."

By this step, Chen Lai was fully prepared. He took the final step and shouted the name that was most clearly written on the scrap of paper.

"Heavenly Lord of Celestial and Benevolent."

The next second, the star belonging to him flickered. Far away, countless light-years away, Zhou Mingrui felt a resonance and reached out to pull up this special "Tarot card."