No. 1 buried the pawn that was Black Shaman.
Even if the system had made a deal behind closed doors with the Devil, it was still rather challenging to implant five puppet strings and achieve deep control within such a short time frame.
But Black Shaman was different. The Devil was virtually able to manipulate him with barely a lift of his finger.
AD
For no one would have imagined the esteemed leader of the Witch Society was an avid admirer of the Devil.
The reason being that the S-ranked instance Black Shaman received his shaman lineage from happened to be one of the instances the Devil had wrecked.
Perhaps because of the seed left by this experience, coupled with the properties of the puppet strings, the subsequent implantation of puppet strings went exceptionally smoothly, and he was swiftly turned wholly into a puppet in the hands of No. 1.
Unless one day the Devil decided to remove the puppet strings on a whim, no outsider could interfere with this.
After he had Black Shaman under his control, No. 1 began to use No. 8 to spy on No. 2’s whereabouts.
Regrettably, Van Zhuo was aware of his abilities and, like Zhuge An, had long been on guard against them. He’d especially spent a fortune on priceless psychic props from other contenders just in case.
Even then, No. 1’s vast power still allowed him to implant a single puppet string.
Although it spanned only a few short seconds, it was enough for him to get the information he wanted from the other’s mind.
The Devil was very curious about Zong Jiu.
AD
The Devil had been curious that day when No. 2 said they were betrothed on the roof of the trainee dormitories, for this spelled they were acquainted from before.
Or it might have been from even earlier on. When he had chosen to manipulate Sheng Yu, he had his eyes on this white-haired Magician.
The Magician looked uncaring and aloof on the outside, yet he was not lacking the least bit of mania in his bones.
It was this sense of resonance that amused the Devil to no end.
Yet it wasn’t enough. They were kindred spirits, yet were also opposites, even running counter to each other.
The Magician was fettered.
He disregarded rules and lacked emotions. He was devoid of human morals and loved chasing thrills. And yet, when on the cusp of overstepping boundaries—he would stop. He would even turn his attention to the weak, disguising himself as an ordinary man.
Who set these fetters around him?
Not only was the Devil curious, but he even yearned to break these fetters, releasing the wild beast imprisoned behind them.
Then, he saw Van Zhuo’s memories.
Maybe as it was a past far too long ago, those memories appeared somewhat blurred, suffused with indistinct tones.
In the real world, Van Zhuo was of Russian-Chinese descent, a prominent heir to one of seven noble families.
This rugged ancestry wasn’t only there for show. Further, the heir of this influential family was left to fend for his own in the desolate wilderness at a tender age, rumoured to be able to stage a perfect escape even in the face of dangerous kidnappers.
At the age of seven, Van Zhuo did have such an experience. Coincidentally, several other families of influence also threw their young scions to the wilderness training grounds—among them was Zong Jiu.
Only, in Van Zhuo’s recollection, Zong Jiu was wearing a little girl’s flowery skirt. He appeared so weak it was as if a breeze could blow him over, much less carry a gun.
Children from other families saw that he looked different due to his albinism and often bullied him, and all he knew was to snivel with tears in his eyes.
But later, Van Zhuo took him in, and it was with his backing that Zong Jiu had successfully returned to the helicopter campsite.
Pc tlr mtlivtbbv, Njc Iteb vlvc’a jmaejiis ufa ab wffa Ibcu Ale boafc jr tf kjr kjs abb yers, rqlcclcu ilxf j abq 24/7. Yc atf bmmjrlbcr atja atf ojwlis fivfgr ygbeuta Ibcu Ale bnfg ab nlrla ijafg, tf kjr atfc qfgwlaafv ab ajxf ifjnf ogbw mijrr ab xffq atf uefra mbwqjcs.
The reason he’d helped Zong Jiu back then was simple; he had been taught to be a gentleman. Van Zhuo had mistaken Zong Jiu to be a girl as the boy was wearing a skirt, and in the spirit of a gentleman, had taken him through the wilderness.
These were his memories between the ages of seven to ten. Apart from the month fighting for survival in the wilderness, their other encounters were far and few between. Further on, his personal assistant would occasionally urge him to honour his betrothal to the white-haired young master, but these were just as infrequent.
The Devil pensively withdrew his puppet string.
He was essentially a hundred percent certain the ‘Zong Jiu’ in No. 2’s memories and the present-day Magician were in no way the same person.
It wasn’t just in the eyes or the aura. Nor was it that No. 1 had only seen that ‘Zong Jiu’ cry in the face of danger. Even his deliberate dress-up as a female revealed his ulterior motives of wanting to climb the social ladder from a young age.
It was intuition.
The Devil didn’t believe he would fail to recognise his nemesis.
However… this was a huge haul.
The man wet his lips, his dark golden eyes glinting with an abstruse dark light.
The exhale that fanned on the shell of Zong Jiu’s ear was freezing, so cold it was as if the man wanted to drag him down to the cold depths of hell.
“Which world do you come from? Hm? An S+ instance?”
Zong Jiu raised an eyebrow at No. 1’s words, yet he didn’t show any surprise.
This wasn’t the first time someone got it. Before, it was Zhuge An; now, it was the Devil. Zong Jiu wouldn’t even be surprised if Van Zhuo registered he wasn’t the same ‘Zong Jiu’ of his memories.
Even if they guessed he wasn’t of this world, like Zhuge An and the Devil, they would probably only take it towards S or S+ rank instances.
Unless the Devil implanted a puppet string into his head, there was no way anyone could guess that not only did Zong Jiu hail from a peaceful world in reality, but in that world, everything happening in this infinite loop was merely fictitious.
No. 1 seized him from behind, literally like a lazy devil draping himself on a human, speculating with considerable interest.
On the other hand, Black Shaman was quietly pressed against the wall. Although he was completely manipulated, the puppet was more in tune with his own taciturn nature than the Devil in person. Only when those green eyes similarly fixed onto the Magician’s face, never missing the briefest micro-expression, could he glimpse the truth that he was no longer himself.
“No wonder you can touch my strings. It turns out you’re not of this world.”
No. 1 chuckled softly, lingering pleasure dripping from his voice. “We’re much too alike… I’m really liking you more and more.”
Zong Jiu directly brushed over this madman’s latter utterance, capturing the key information in his words. “Alike? Are you not from this world either?”
The Devil was clearly in a good mood. He was even happy enough to squander time on something that interested him.
His hand toyed with the white-haired Magician’s slender knuckles, while the other hand clasped the waist hidden beneath the blue and white school uniform, absently explaining, “Yeah.”
“It’s a shame the world I’m from was too dull.”
Speaking of this, the man looked nettled. “It didn’t let me play for long before it went boom.”
His white-gloved hand closed around Zong Jiu’s hand, then suddenly released, excitement and mischief gleaming in his dark golden eyes.
“Just like that, I broke it.”
“I was left with no choice. As I was truly unable to find a fun toy, I came here.”
The Devil spread his arms, grinning. “How fun it is here, don’t you think?”
The Magician didn’t answer him. He coldly pushed the other’s hands away, leaving without looking back.
—
After the basketball competition, First High School resumed its rightful schedule.
With just under a month remaining, no trainee dared to let up in the face of the daunting 800-mark bar for the second monthly exam.
Weekly quizzes tightly followed one after the next.
In the first weekly quiz, not a single class crossed the bar.
Class 2’s monitor smiled wryly at three in the morning. “If I can make it through these hundred and twenty days, I never want to see any derivatives of ellipses or number sequences ever again.
From the upper bunk, Class 6’s monitor also looked up from his book, glancing at the lights still turned on at every bed, quietly adding, “I never want to see relativity, quantum theory, or momentum ever again. These aren’t Olympiad questions mortals can solve.”
It was amid this high-pressure, oppressive environment that the conversion rate of faceless trainees increased dramatically.
Everyone’s daily routine was—wake up, freshen up, morning reading, classes, drill papers, wash up, and then sleep. Like pre-programmed machines, they mechanically repeated this day in and day out, constantly trying to cram even more into their brains.
The atmosphere in every class was tense, and it was under these circumstances that the quest for knowledge became so much more difficult.
Ever since the midterms, it was as though the classes had been streamed. Teachers would only accommodate the top-performing students, unheeding if the weak students failed to understand.
The faceless teachers were predisposed towards the best students in the class, such that they’d even start explaining Olympiad questions during lesson time, blatantly showing favouritism.
Trainees who had good grades would perform even better after listening to this advanced content. Weak students would conversely be caught in a conundrum in which they were unable to understand what was being taught in class and were also unable to do their worksheets.
This, alongside the banding of the students by their results, resulted in a lack of knowledge flow between both sides.
If the better-performing students didn’t help to explain mistakes to the underperforming students, the latter group would have virtually no source of knowledge input. After all, being weak in their studies, it goes without saying that it would be difficult for them to understand the teaching materials on their own.
And this was how a vicious cycle was formed.
In the beginning, for the sake of shared interests and the survival of the class, top students would still sacrifice their time to tutor weaker ones. But after the midterm exam, most top students stopped mollycoddling others.
Because they discovered the best way to work in the interests of the whole.
Ignore underachievers, ridicule them, ostracise them. In turn, this would boost their chances of transforming into faceless people.
Due to their inability to learn, under pressure, and enduring contempt around them, many underachievers were ultimately unable to hold on. They collapsed, giving up on themselves, becoming faceless people overnight.
Among them, Class 5 was the lead advocate of campus bullying through silent treatment.
Room 404, where the first faceless trainee appeared, had essentially turned into a room of faceless people. The sole exception was Liang Mingde, who was continually facing pressure from the top students of Class 5.
One after another, nearly a dozen trainees in their class had become faceless. With so many individuals raking in points, Class 5’s score instantly shot from middling to first in the year. If this went on, there was no doubt they would be the first to cross the bar.
Sure enough, during the second weekly quiz, Class 5 smoothly cleared the 800-mark bar, even exceeding it by almost fifty points.
On the other hand, Class 1, which had once been first, was now in second place, still slightly short of 800 despite giving their all.
During this period, the small clique in Class 5 couldn’t be prouder of themselves, patting themselves on the back.
Gradually, Class 6 and Class 2, who had remained neutral all this while, followed Class 5’s lead and began to put pressure on the underachievers in their classes.
Even Class 1, overwhelmed by stress, welcomed their first faceless trainee.
Only Class 9 faithfully kept to the promise of all 99 of them staying strong together, with not one transformation.
Though it also had to be said that their scores were too risky.
The last weekly quiz before the second monthly exam soon arrived.
After the quiz, the class stood before the blackboard with the average scores tallied up, silent.
It was the last week, and they had only hit slightly above 750 marks, a whole forty-odd points short of their target.
This was even after Zong Jiu performed better than usual, scoring 1020 out of a total score of 1150.
Index 99 was the first to break the silence.
“Don’t panic, everyone, it’s only forty-ish points. Let’s each work a little harder, and read the high-weightage questions in every subject more carefully. That’s how we can make up the marks. We mustn’t give up hope.”
Once he spoke, everyone also started to cheer each other on. “That’s right, who needs to sleep this week—not me! Damn this, I don’t believe a lousy high school question will be the end of me after wrangling code for so many years.”
“Yeah, let’s all work hard together! We’ll surely find a way!”
“Jiu-ge has already said it. He did well this time and is pretty much done with his revision, so everyone can just approach him for help during evening self-study if you hit any roadblocks. As long as we stay strong together, there’s nothing in this world we can’t do.”
“We still have seven days. Jiayou to us! Jiayou Class 9!”
After pumping one another up, gradually, the previous low morale was swept away, and beams reappeared on the faces of every trainee.
Only Zong Jiu stood to one side with his head slightly lowered. The card in his hand felt like it was searing.
He had divined next week’s results again.
The overall tone of this card was gloomy. It was very, very dark; backdropped by the night sky, it presented an ominous black colour.
On the card face, a high-tipped, tall tower was built on top of a sharp cliff with white clouds floating next to it.
A golden bolt of lightning struck the crown-like tower top, and the three highest chambers burst into flames.
A splendidly-robed Pope and King fell headlong from the top of the tower, their hands raised and their expressions distorted with fear.
When disaster struck, all class and wealth were immaterial.
This was the symbolism behind this card.
Of the twenty-two Major Arcana cards, this was the most catastrophic and destructive, the ultimate portent of adversity.
The Tower.
This was also the only card brimming with misfortune in both its upright and reversed orientations.
What Zong Jiu was holding in his hand now was this card, the worst of the Tarot Deck.
The sole consolation to be found was that…
The card was in the reversed orientation.
Although the reserved Tower similarly foretold adversity and misfortune, it didn’t have as much destructive power as the upright Tower.
Of course, it wasn’t much better either.
The white-haired young man slipped the tarot cards back into his system backpack and closed his eyes, his mind swiftly searching for a solution.
Regardless, it was going to be an uphill battle ahead.
No. 1 buried the pawn that was Black Shaman.
Even if the system had made a deal behind closed doors with the Devil, it was still rather challenging to implant five puppet strings and achieve deep control within such a short time frame.
But Black Shaman was different. The Devil was virtually able to manipulate him with barely a lift of his finger.
AD
For no one would have imagined the esteemed leader of the Witch Society was an avid admirer of the Devil.
The reason being that the S-ranked instance Black Shaman received his shaman lineage from happened to be one of the instances the Devil had wrecked.
Perhaps because of the seed left by this experience, coupled with the properties of the puppet strings, the subsequent implantation of puppet strings went exceptionally smoothly, and he was swiftly turned wholly into a puppet in the hands of No. 1.
Unless one day the Devil decided to remove the puppet strings on a whim, no outsider could interfere with this.
After he had Black Shaman under his control, No. 1 began to use No. 8 to spy on No. 2’s whereabouts.
Regrettably, Van Zhuo was aware of his abilities and, like Zhuge An, had long been on guard against them. He’d especially spent a fortune on priceless psychic props from other contenders just in case.
Even then, No. 1’s vast power still allowed him to implant a single puppet string.
Although it spanned only a few short seconds, it was enough for him to get the information he wanted from the other’s mind.
The Devil was very curious about Zong Jiu.
AD
The Devil had been curious that day when No. 2 said they were betrothed on the roof of the trainee dormitories, for this spelled they were acquainted from before.
Or it might have been from even earlier on. When he had chosen to manipulate Sheng Yu, he had his eyes on this white-haired Magician.
The Magician looked uncaring and aloof on the outside, yet he was not lacking the least bit of mania in his bones.
It was this sense of resonance that amused the Devil to no end.
Yet it wasn’t enough. They were kindred spirits, yet were also opposites, even running counter to each other.
The Magician was fettered.
He disregarded rules and lacked emotions. He was devoid of human morals and loved chasing thrills. And yet, when on the cusp of overstepping boundaries—he would stop. He would even turn his attention to the weak, disguising himself as an ordinary man.
Who set these fetters around him?
Not only was the Devil curious, but he even yearned to break these fetters, releasing the wild beast imprisoned behind them.
Then, he saw Van Zhuo’s memories.
Maybe as it was a past far too long ago, those memories appeared somewhat blurred, suffused with indistinct tones.
In the real world, Van Zhuo was of Russian-Chinese descent, a prominent heir to one of seven noble families.
This rugged ancestry wasn’t only there for show. Further, the heir of this influential family was left to fend for his own in the desolate wilderness at a tender age, rumoured to be able to stage a perfect escape even in the face of dangerous kidnappers.
At the age of seven, Van Zhuo did have such an experience. Coincidentally, several other families of influence also threw their young scions to the wilderness training grounds—among them was Zong Jiu.
Only, in Van Zhuo’s recollection, Zong Jiu was wearing a little girl’s flowery skirt. He appeared so weak it was as if a breeze could blow him over, much less carry a gun.
Children from other families saw that he looked different due to his albinism and often bullied him, and all he knew was to snivel with tears in his eyes.
But later, Van Zhuo took him in, and it was with his backing that Zong Jiu had successfully returned to the helicopter campsite.
Pc tlr mtlivtbbv, Njc Iteb vlvc’a jmaejiis ufa ab wffa Ibcu Ale boafc jr tf kjr kjs abb yers, rqlcclcu ilxf j abq 24/7. Yc atf bmmjrlbcr atja atf ojwlis fivfgr ygbeuta Ibcu Ale bnfg ab nlrla ijafg, tf kjr atfc qfgwlaafv ab ajxf ifjnf ogbw mijrr ab xffq atf uefra mbwqjcs.
The reason he’d helped Zong Jiu back then was simple; he had been taught to be a gentleman. Van Zhuo had mistaken Zong Jiu to be a girl as the boy was wearing a skirt, and in the spirit of a gentleman, had taken him through the wilderness.
These were his memories between the ages of seven to ten. Apart from the month fighting for survival in the wilderness, their other encounters were far and few between. Further on, his personal assistant would occasionally urge him to honour his betrothal to the white-haired young master, but these were just as infrequent.
The Devil pensively withdrew his puppet string.
He was essentially a hundred percent certain the ‘Zong Jiu’ in No. 2’s memories and the present-day Magician were in no way the same person.
It wasn’t just in the eyes or the aura. Nor was it that No. 1 had only seen that ‘Zong Jiu’ cry in the face of danger. Even his deliberate dress-up as a female revealed his ulterior motives of wanting to climb the social ladder from a young age.
It was intuition.
The Devil didn’t believe he would fail to recognise his nemesis.
However… this was a huge haul.
The man wet his lips, his dark golden eyes glinting with an abstruse dark light.
The exhale that fanned on the shell of Zong Jiu’s ear was freezing, so cold it was as if the man wanted to drag him down to the cold depths of hell.
“Which world do you come from? Hm? An S+ instance?”
Zong Jiu raised an eyebrow at No. 1’s words, yet he didn’t show any surprise.
This wasn’t the first time someone got it. Before, it was Zhuge An; now, it was the Devil. Zong Jiu wouldn’t even be surprised if Van Zhuo registered he wasn’t the same ‘Zong Jiu’ of his memories.
Even if they guessed he wasn’t of this world, like Zhuge An and the Devil, they would probably only take it towards S or S+ rank instances.
Unless the Devil implanted a puppet string into his head, there was no way anyone could guess that not only did Zong Jiu hail from a peaceful world in reality, but in that world, everything happening in this infinite loop was merely fictitious.
No. 1 seized him from behind, literally like a lazy devil draping himself on a human, speculating with considerable interest.
On the other hand, Black Shaman was quietly pressed against the wall. Although he was completely manipulated, the puppet was more in tune with his own taciturn nature than the Devil in person. Only when those green eyes similarly fixed onto the Magician’s face, never missing the briefest micro-expression, could he glimpse the truth that he was no longer himself.
“No wonder you can touch my strings. It turns out you’re not of this world.”
No. 1 chuckled softly, lingering pleasure dripping from his voice. “We’re much too alike… I’m really liking you more and more.”
Zong Jiu directly brushed over this madman’s latter utterance, capturing the key information in his words. “Alike? Are you not from this world either?”
The Devil was clearly in a good mood. He was even happy enough to squander time on something that interested him.
His hand toyed with the white-haired Magician’s slender knuckles, while the other hand clasped the waist hidden beneath the blue and white school uniform, absently explaining, “Yeah.”
“It’s a shame the world I’m from was too dull.”
Speaking of this, the man looked nettled. “It didn’t let me play for long before it went boom.”
His white-gloved hand closed around Zong Jiu’s hand, then suddenly released, excitement and mischief gleaming in his dark golden eyes.
“Just like that, I broke it.”
“I was left with no choice. As I was truly unable to find a fun toy, I came here.”
The Devil spread his arms, grinning. “How fun it is here, don’t you think?”
The Magician didn’t answer him. He coldly pushed the other’s hands away, leaving without looking back.
—
After the basketball competition, First High School resumed its rightful schedule.
With just under a month remaining, no trainee dared to let up in the face of the daunting 800-mark bar for the second monthly exam.
Weekly quizzes tightly followed one after the next.
In the first weekly quiz, not a single class crossed the bar.
Class 2’s monitor smiled wryly at three in the morning. “If I can make it through these hundred and twenty days, I never want to see any derivatives of ellipses or number sequences ever again.
From the upper bunk, Class 6’s monitor also looked up from his book, glancing at the lights still turned on at every bed, quietly adding, “I never want to see relativity, quantum theory, or momentum ever again. These aren’t Olympiad questions mortals can solve.”
It was amid this high-pressure, oppressive environment that the conversion rate of faceless trainees increased dramatically.
Everyone’s daily routine was—wake up, freshen up, morning reading, classes, drill papers, wash up, and then sleep. Like pre-programmed machines, they mechanically repeated this day in and day out, constantly trying to cram even more into their brains.
The atmosphere in every class was tense, and it was under these circumstances that the quest for knowledge became so much more difficult.
Ever since the midterms, it was as though the classes had been streamed. Teachers would only accommodate the top-performing students, unheeding if the weak students failed to understand.
The faceless teachers were predisposed towards the best students in the class, such that they’d even start explaining Olympiad questions during lesson time, blatantly showing favouritism.
Trainees who had good grades would perform even better after listening to this advanced content. Weak students would conversely be caught in a conundrum in which they were unable to understand what was being taught in class and were also unable to do their worksheets.
This, alongside the banding of the students by their results, resulted in a lack of knowledge flow between both sides.
If the better-performing students didn’t help to explain mistakes to the underperforming students, the latter group would have virtually no source of knowledge input. After all, being weak in their studies, it goes without saying that it would be difficult for them to understand the teaching materials on their own.
And this was how a vicious cycle was formed.
In the beginning, for the sake of shared interests and the survival of the class, top students would still sacrifice their time to tutor weaker ones. But after the midterm exam, most top students stopped mollycoddling others.
Because they discovered the best way to work in the interests of the whole.
Ignore underachievers, ridicule them, ostracise them. In turn, this would boost their chances of transforming into faceless people.
Due to their inability to learn, under pressure, and enduring contempt around them, many underachievers were ultimately unable to hold on. They collapsed, giving up on themselves, becoming faceless people overnight.
Among them, Class 5 was the lead advocate of campus bullying through silent treatment.
Room 404, where the first faceless trainee appeared, had essentially turned into a room of faceless people. The sole exception was Liang Mingde, who was continually facing pressure from the top students of Class 5.
One after another, nearly a dozen trainees in their class had become faceless. With so many individuals raking in points, Class 5’s score instantly shot from middling to first in the year. If this went on, there was no doubt they would be the first to cross the bar.
Sure enough, during the second weekly quiz, Class 5 smoothly cleared the 800-mark bar, even exceeding it by almost fifty points.
On the other hand, Class 1, which had once been first, was now in second place, still slightly short of 800 despite giving their all.
During this period, the small clique in Class 5 couldn’t be prouder of themselves, patting themselves on the back.
Gradually, Class 6 and Class 2, who had remained neutral all this while, followed Class 5’s lead and began to put pressure on the underachievers in their classes.
Even Class 1, overwhelmed by stress, welcomed their first faceless trainee.
Only Class 9 faithfully kept to the promise of all 99 of them staying strong together, with not one transformation.
Though it also had to be said that their scores were too risky.
The last weekly quiz before the second monthly exam soon arrived.
After the quiz, the class stood before the blackboard with the average scores tallied up, silent.
It was the last week, and they had only hit slightly above 750 marks, a whole forty-odd points short of their target.
This was even after Zong Jiu performed better than usual, scoring 1020 out of a total score of 1150.
Index 99 was the first to break the silence.
“Don’t panic, everyone, it’s only forty-ish points. Let’s each work a little harder, and read the high-weightage questions in every subject more carefully. That’s how we can make up the marks. We mustn’t give up hope.”
Once he spoke, everyone also started to cheer each other on. “That’s right, who needs to sleep this week—not me! Damn this, I don’t believe a lousy high school question will be the end of me after wrangling code for so many years.”
“Yeah, let’s all work hard together! We’ll surely find a way!”
“Jiu-ge has already said it. He did well this time and is pretty much done with his revision, so everyone can just approach him for help during evening self-study if you hit any roadblocks. As long as we stay strong together, there’s nothing in this world we can’t do.”
“We still have seven days. Jiayou to us! Jiayou Class 9!”
After pumping one another up, gradually, the previous low morale was swept away, and beams reappeared on the faces of every trainee.
Only Zong Jiu stood to one side with his head slightly lowered. The card in his hand felt like it was searing.
He had divined next week’s results again.
The overall tone of this card was gloomy. It was very, very dark; backdropped by the night sky, it presented an ominous black colour.
On the card face, a high-tipped, tall tower was built on top of a sharp cliff with white clouds floating next to it.
A golden bolt of lightning struck the crown-like tower top, and the three highest chambers burst into flames.
A splendidly-robed Pope and King fell headlong from the top of the tower, their hands raised and their expressions distorted with fear.
When disaster struck, all class and wealth were immaterial.
This was the symbolism behind this card.
Of the twenty-two Major Arcana cards, this was the most catastrophic and destructive, the ultimate portent of adversity.
The Tower.
This was also the only card brimming with misfortune in both its upright and reversed orientations.
What Zong Jiu was holding in his hand now was this card, the worst of the Tarot Deck.
The sole consolation to be found was that…
The card was in the reversed orientation.
Although the reserved Tower similarly foretold adversity and misfortune, it didn’t have as much destructive power as the upright Tower.
Of course, it wasn’t much better either.
The white-haired young man slipped the tarot cards back into his system backpack and closed his eyes, his mind swiftly searching for a solution.
Regardless, it was going to be an uphill battle ahead.
