Chapter 58 | The Right Choice
Evening deepened, and high above the bustling training hall, the commanders' private lounge perched atop the highest tower. Draped in silken banners embroidered with the Jade Deity's insignia, the balcony offered a sweeping view of the whole arena below.
Great Peng lounged against the railing, tablet in hand and narrating with absurd gusto: "And here we see Ao Bing—still brooding, probably plotting my imminent demise. Follow for more relatable content."
He turned swiftly, angling his screen at the scowling Sea Prince.
Ao Bing's grip tightened dangerously around his cup. "Peng, if you point that tablet at me again, you'll be fishing it out of your throat."
Great Peng paused, finger hovering over his screen, contemplative. "That sounds viral enough. Shall we test your theory?"
"Careful, Peng." Lady Foxfire laughed from the side. "Ao Bing's probably rehearsed that threat all morning."
Ao Bing gave her a venomous smile. "My mornings are usually consumed by plotting how to avoid conversations with you."
"Such harshness!" She pressed a hand to her heart. "I just might be in love."
Nearby, Erlang Shen sat on a tatami, deep in meditation, pointedly ignoring the Nine-tailed Goddess's playful provocations. His eyes remained closed, brow twitching only slightly as he maintained composure.
Qiongqi, still simmering, prowled behind them. "Where's that damned tiger now?" He cast restless glances toward the entrance. "Every second he's missing is another scheme unfolding."
Meng Po sipped her tea. "Patience, Qiongqi. Schemes take time, tea takes patience—both of which you may lack immensely."
Qiongqi growled under his breath. "Doesn't anyone else worry about him vanishing all the time?"
"Only when he reappears," Li Wei muttered from his spot near the balcony's edge. His fingers drummed against the railing, gaze scanning the evening shadows with habitual suspicion.
As if summoned by discomfort alone, Taeril sauntered into view the next second, pale robes fluttering behind him. "Someone call my name?"
Qiongqi recoiled instantly, eyeing him with open disgust. "Bai Hu. What corner were you plotting in this time?"
Taeril tilted his head. "My dear Qiongqi, were you waiting for me this entire time?"
The demon looked nauseous, and promptly retreated toward the buffet table while muttering about never being hungry again.
Ignoring the seething glare directed at his back, Taeril crossed the balcony toward Li Wei, who was clearly hoping to sip his tea in peace. With an air of practiced annoyance, the White Tiger produced a steaming bubble tea from his sleeves, extending it toward the mortal commander.
Li Wei eyed it blandly. "Poisoned, I presume?"
Taeril raised a brow. "Captain Li, tapioca surely is not the method I'd choose if I wanted you gone."
Li Wei stared at him a moment longer, then sighed with a slump of his shoulders. "Should've retired early," he mumbled, accepting the cup reluctantly. "Potato farming sounds heavenly right now. No pun intended."
"Yet here you are, sipping tea with me again." Taeril smiled, the warmth startlingly genuine. "Fate sure is persistent."
Li Wei rolled his eyes, downing the tea the next second. Silence stretched comfortably between them for a brief moment before he cast a sideways glance at the white-haired man.
"The upcoming round… will you be alright?"
At that, Taeril's gaze flickered. Shadows deepened his eyes momentarily before he smiled again. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."
Under Li Wei's dead gaze, he shrugged.
"But naturally, I have countermeasures prepared."
Erlang Shen opened one eye slightly, regarding the two men. "Do you truly think they'll use our own past against us? Seems beneath even the Jade Deity."
Great Peng laughed from nearby, leaning back against the balcony. "You give him too much credit, Erlang. Drama's practically his main diet. Personal trauma's just dessert."
"Personally, I'm hoping it's not past lovers haunting me." Lady Foxfire chimed in. "My nightmares might last longer than the official game."
Ao Bing gave her a flat stare. "You have enough ex-lovers to populate a minor realm. A nightmare for you is probably a crowd."
"Only if they bring flowers." She sighed dreamily. "Which they usually do."
Lady Meng set her tea down, a small smile flickering across her lips. "Whatever the case, I trust our nightmares will reveal more about us than we'd prefer."
She paused.
"Perhaps things we've forgotten, or wish we could."
Taeril sipped his bubble tea, watching the sky darken. "Perhaps the greatest nightmare isn't the past itself—" he mused, "—but being forced to relive who we once were, and realizing how little has changed."
Li Wei glanced at the man, something sweeping across his features before quickly being masked again. Quiet fell among the commanders, interwoven with the distant laughter and cheers from below.
"Whatever awaits us in that nightmare, it may demand honesty we seldom afford ourselves," Erlang Shen said. "I recommend we brace accordingly."
"So, no livestreaming?" Great Peng asked.
Ao Bing's glare sharpened once more. "Peng, for the last time—"
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"No, Peng. Definitely livestream it." Taeril chuckled. "Let RealmNet watch Commander Ao confront his inner self. Ratings gold, guaranteed."
Lady Foxfire clapped her hands together, beaming at Ao Bing's murderous expression. "We could even sell tickets."
The Sea Dragon Prince groaned audibly, staring heavenward. "Someone stop this shit show."
Quiet laughter rippled through the balcony, and tension eased temporarily. Below, the night settled fully over the arena, stars flickering, as if aware that tomorrow's games would soon bring truth—and perhaps tragedy—in their wake.
***
Meanwhile, after intense workouts and an oddly sumptuous dinner, a buzz had filled the communal training hall. Team members sprawled across oversized beanbags, scattering around the hall like dropped marbles.
Eathan, feeling vaguely uneasy, found himself sitting in a circle with Violet, Cragtooth, Willow, and Chewie as their chatters drifted toward the looming third game.
"Commander White's nightmare?" Willow lounged back, staring upward. "Probably being strapped down and forced to tell the truth about something important for once."
Cragtooth chuckled, shaking his massive head. "Commander Ao's worst nightmare would involve public humiliation. Maybe charity fundraisers. Definitely second-place trophies."
"Commander Meng's worst nightmare might be bankruptcy—imagine no one needing to visit the Realm of Passing because they've all found immortality. She'd go broke from lack of customers." The Tang Poet from Meng's team leaned forward, eyes twinkling thoughtfully. "Instant unemployment. Truly terrifying."
Finn laughed. "She'd have to pick up a new hobby. Gardening, maybe."
"Or maybe forced social interaction," Chewie muttered distractedly, still scrolling on her holopad. "Actually having to talk instead of cryptically sipping tea."
The group chuckled, the jokes doing their best to lift the ominous premonition hanging above them.
"Or perhaps," a quiet voice suddenly cut in, "the commanders' nightmares aren't about trivial things like humiliation or bankruptcy at all."
Everyone froze, heads snapping up to find Esther standing at the edge of their circle, as if she'd materialized from shadow itself.
Finn nearly jumped out of his skin. "Esther—please, footsteps. Just one."
"Seriously," Willow grumbled. "We need to get you a bell."
Esther ignored them. The corners of her lips twitched into what Eathan would almost consider a smirk, if it weren't for the rest of her impassive face.
"Consider this—what if their nightmares are reflections of their greatest failures? Secrets they've buried so deeply even they've forgotten?"
The room temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Even Violet's confident posture stiffened slightly. Cragtooth glanced uneasily at Willow, who suddenly found the floor fascinating.
Finn, drawn by the tension, wandered closer, stopping to look at the black-haired woman. "Wow. Thanks for the existential dread, Esther. Glad you could join us."
Eathan, desperate to lighten the mood, cleared his throat. "I mean...maybe their nightmares aren't that terrible. Maybe it's just like being stuck in an eternal traffic jam?"
Silence stretched painfully as the group stared at him with vague horror.
Finn patted Eathan on the shoulder, shaking his head. "Yeah. Good luck sleeping tonight, everyone."
***
The 3 AM suite was quiet; the hallways were barely lit by the floating lamps, emitting a soft, muted glow. Finn sprawled on his bed, limbs flung wide, completely knocked out.
Across the room, Eathan sat upright on his mattress, glaring at his teammate's peaceful, oblivious sleep.
"Finn and his cursed mouth," he muttered, pulling the covers tighter around him.
After a few tosses and turns and still no inkling of sleep, he rose quietly, slipping out onto the suite's balcony. The cool night breeze felt refreshing against his skin, soothing his unease. He leaned against the railing, looking upwards. Above him, unfamiliar constellations sparkled—likely distant deities laughing at his insomnia.
For just a second, he was reminded of just how far he'd drifted from the mundane college life he'd once known.
"From convenience store employee to participant in divine psychological warfare," he whispered, half to himself. "Should I be terrified or just update my resume?"
"Both. It's called multitasking."
Eathan nearly jumped, turning to his right. Chewie leaned against the railing on the balcony next to his, eyes fixed on the faint glow of her holopad and dark strands carried by the breeze. Her strawberry pyjamas clashed absurdly with her somber aura.
"Chewie, it's the middle of the night." Eathan raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"Only low-level mortals and Captain Li sleep at 3 AM." She shrugged minimally, eyes locked on her scrolling screen. "Content updates are prime at this hour in the Realm of the Passing."
"Ah," he mumbled. "That explains why your growth spurt never arrived."
The eleven-year-old stopped scrolling. Her gaze snapped upward, the crimson glow in her eyes just bright enough to pierce him in the dimness. Eathan quickly swallowed the rest of his sentence.
"Nothing. Never mind."
She eyed him briefly before returning to her screen. They stood in companionable silence, the night stretching around them. Eathan stared out into the quiet, star-dusted horizon, his mind circling.
"Chewie," he finally said, quieter than he intended, "Ever wonder if you made the right choices?"
Chewie paused, finger hovering over the holopad and eyebrows slightly raised. "Right choice about what exactly? My taste in clothing? Naming my SpiritTube account @ChewsCarefully instead of @DivineRetributionForChew? Perhaps throwing my karmic lot in with a convenience store intern?"
Eathan winced slightly. "I was thinking more along the lines of choosing between a normal life and… whatever this insanity is. But sure, let's say, hypothetically, the last one."
"Regretting already?" She tilted her head. "You did send quite eagerly that 'Academic Leave' email back at Mister White's villa."
"Temporarily leave," Eathan corrected. "And it's not exactly regret. I'm just... a little confused, that's all. But it's silly, because I chose this path myself."
Chewie watched him, the silence encouraging him to continue.
"I feel like I adapted quickly because I had no choice but to adapt," he went on. "Mister White and you—you're the closest people—uh, or beings—that I can consider as family. What's human, anyway? You're not human. Mister White's definitely not human. Yet you're both my family. So what does that even mean?"
He shrugged weakly. "And if you're family, then I'll do anything to protect that. Even if that means going beyond what a mortal intern should probably do." He rubbed his face. "I don't know. Is that too cheesy?"
"Absolutely. But who cares?"
Eathan stared at her blankly. "Excuse me?"
"You humans spend too much energy worrying if your feelings make sense," she said flatly. "You chose to be here, but that doesn't mean you can't feel uncertain. Everyone has options—even regret. You don't have to pretend you don't."
Eathan paused, absorbing her words. "Then you think I made the wrong choice?"
Chewie's lips curled. She finally looked up at him, gaze deadpan but not unkind. "Life is just a series of progressively worse decisions, Eathan. If you're still alive to question them, then it probably wasn't the worst one you made."
Eathan blinked twice. Then laughter bubbled up from his chest, breaking softly into the night. "You know, for an eleven-year-old, you're surprisingly good at existential pep talks."
"I charge by the minute. You can pay in snacks." Chewie shrugged, attention drifting back to the glowing screen. "Besides, a mortal life sounds exhausting. Homework, exams, mandatory social interactions? I'd rather fight rift monsters any day."
"…You might just have a point."
They fell quiet again, standing side by side beneath the unfamiliar stars. Eathan leaned further on the railing, looking toward the sprawling mountains and landscape.
He let out an exhale and straightened, letting the sense of unease fold away like a discarded paper. To him, gaining strength had always been survival, never pride. He had never actively taken stock of how quickly he'd changed, never really processed the speed at which his life had shifted.
But that was fine. He didn't need philosophical answers. At least right now, he didn't. What he did need was to survive the Games and not embarrass himself—or Mister White—in the process.
Another breeze picked up, this time stirring the air around them with a sense of subtle anticipation.
Maybe he hadn't made the safest choice, or even the sanest one. But as he stood on the balcony beneath stars no mortal had mapped, he felt a strange certainty—that despite all the questionable choices he'd made, he would be alright.