After Saving The Universe A Thousand Times: Chapter 21

Chapter 21: All Gods’ Descent 21

Lei Ming’s words left Dong Jin feeling somewhat troubled.  

He thought back to the only two moments in his first trial where his eyes were exposed.  

The first was at the very beginning.  

It was midnight, and under the dim light, his eye color appeared to be a common shade of ink black. Soon after, he wrapped his eyes in bandages, and the lighting inside remained unchanged.  

So up to now, the audience likely assumed he had black hair and black eyes.  

The second moment was during Kale’s death.  

At this thought, Dong Jin couldn’t help but frown—Kale had undoubtedly seen his eyes.  

And because of the rising and falling sparks in the surroundings, Dong Jin wasn’t sure if Kale had fully glimpsed the shifting colors of his irises.  

If Kale had just been an NPC, it wouldn’t matter whether he saw it clearly or not. With his death, everything would’ve returned to secrecy.  

But the problem was, Kale was Kai’s avatar. This instantly made things much more complicated.  

After pondering for a while, Dong Jin objectively assessed his combat prowess.  

Though he was determined to win the FMVP, he wasn’t so overconfident as to be arrogant.  

Considering his combat ability wasn’t overwhelmingly strong without sacrificing lifespan, if he couldn’t make use of his MVP momentum to grab some “freebies” among the gods, it was uncertain who the FMVP would ultimately go to.  

So even though Dong Jin knew that one day his true identity would be exposed due to his eye color, before that happened, he couldn’t give up on the boundless riches offered by the gods and demons of the Supreme Universe.  

Right now, his most pressing concern was figuring out how much of his past the movie had revealed.  

Earlier, during the tea party at the hotel, he had bragged to the Supernatural beings about all sorts of things, some of which were exaggerated nonsense. If those parts had made it into the movie, there’d be no point in overthinking it—he might as well just give up and go to sleep.  

Hearing Dong Jin inquire about the movie’s specifics, Lei Ming, who had been wiping blood from his face, showed a subtle expression. Then, without going into much detail, he tossed aside the bloody towel and said:  

“The movie only aired in the first and second-tier universes. No one in the Supreme Universe should have seen it.”  

“As for the content, it’s just a random selection of a few dream-instance experiences from the thousand nights. Nothing special. You’re fairly lucky—none of the things you mentioned at the tea party were included.”  

The scenes in the movie were indeed ones Lei Ming had picked at random.  

When Dong Jin suddenly vanished, it was during the peak of Lei Ming’s bloodlust.  

Every moment, he was consumed by thoughts of finding Dong Jin and tearing him apart. In the extreme possessiveness that accompanied such intense killing intent, Lei Ming had no desire to share any of his past encounters with Dong Jin for public viewing.  

In fact, if he had known Dong Jin’s specific details, he wouldn’t have even exposed his unique eye color in the movie.  

With that mindset, it was easy to imagine just how sparingly the movie revealed anything.  

Yet even so, the film became a sensation across the first and second-tier universes.  

Its popularity wasn’t due to Lei Ming’s lavish promotional budget or because ordinary moments in the eyes of a god were extraordinary highlights to the audience. It blew up because of the “absolutely beautiful romantic love” depicted in the film.  

Absolutely, Beautiful, Romantic, Love.  

To this day, Lei Ming could vividly recall how utterly disgusted he felt when he accidentally came across those four words in a review. He even remembered every line of that review:  

“At first, when this movie was broadcast across the entire universe, I thought it was just some godly tycoon throwing money to promote a vanity project.”  

“But then I witnessed an absolutely beautiful romantic love quietly blooming between life and death.”  

“In just ninety minutes, I watched the god in the film transition from focusing on the protagonist’s head, throat, and heart—thinking of the fastest way to kill him—to noticing his every move and honing the ability to spot him in a crowd with just one glance.”  

“When the protagonist accidentally revealed his uniquely colored eyes, you could clearly see how long the god’s gaze lingered on them.”  

“Anyone who’s seen this film can feel the subtle emotions stretching between life and death, love and hatred, unperceived by anyone else. That’s when I understood why it’s called [Butterfly].”  

“To the god, the protagonist is like a butterfly born in his heart—delicate and fragile, yet capable of stirring his soul every time it flutters its wings.”  ①

“By the way, for such an incredible romance film, with this much investment in promotion, why isn’t there any information about the actors who played the protagonist and the god?” 

“I’d advise you to quickly hand over all their information, because at this rate, I think I’m about to forget even what that god’s face looks like. Seriously, what’s going on? Is my memory really this bad…”  

The viewers’ inability to remember the god’s face was due to Lei Ming altering his appearance and adding a layer of facial obfuscation.  

He had no desire for the other gods of the Supreme Universe to find out he was searching for Dong Jin.  

As it turned out, his secrecy measures were decent—at least so far, no one had questioned the movie’s content or origin.  

But what Lei Ming couldn’t understand was why a film he had edited as a horror movie—at worst, a suspense film—was universally regarded by audiences as a romance film.  

And it wasn’t just one universe. Every single one of those ignorant things thought the same!  

For a moment, Lei Ming was so inundated by memories of phrases like “absolutely beautiful romantic love” and “romance film” that he simply couldn’t bring himself to share the details of the movie with Dong Jin.  

Instead, he diverted the topic by focusing on what Dong Jin seemed to care about:  

“If you want to deceive those in the Supreme Universe, go ahead. Even if your eye color eventually gets exposed, it doesn’t matter.”  

“Because I’m the strongest one in the Supreme Universe.”  

“Until the divine selection ceremony is completely over, I won’t let you die outside of an instance.”  

Dong Jin considered the information Lei Ming provided, then suddenly asked, “What’s your relationship with Kai like?”  

At that, Lei Ming, who had just picked up his freshly wiped mask to put it back on, immediately raised his eyes to look at him.  

“…Kai saw your eyes? When?”  

Lei Ming often acted on instinct, but that didn’t mean he was a fool. For Dong Jin to mention Kai at this moment, there was only one explanation: his eye color had already been exposed.  

Dong Jin, caught off guard by Lei Ming’s sharp counter-question, was slightly taken aback.  

He had assumed Lei Ming had already seen him uncover his bandaged eyes during that stormy night. But it turned out he hadn’t?  

After recovering from his surprise, Dong Jin replied truthfully, “It was the night Kai’s divine descent failed. I’m not sure if he saw them clearly.”  

“Based on what you know of him, do you think Kai might have watched that movie? And if he spoke with other gods or demons, how likely is it he would mention my eyes?”  

—Is that bastard Kai going to cause trouble even in death?  

Lei Ming thought of how he’d seen Kai on the verge of death that night, only to leave the resonance and return to the livestream. An irritated feeling rose within him.  

He should have stayed a little longer back then. Did that guy not have his own chosen champion? Why did he insist on competing with him?  

Though Lei Ming’s mind raced with annoyance, he still frowned and answered Dong Jin’s question:  

“Kai isn’t interested in movies. He only appreciates live performances.”  

To the God of Revelry, reality itself was the grandest theater.  

Whether it was farcical comedy or absurd tragedy, Kai welcomed it all with open arms.  

Perhaps this was why Kai had taken an interest in the Godhood of drama.  

Unfortunately for him, not only had Lei Ming long since claimed the godhood of drama, but he had also claimed Dong Jin.  

For a fleeting moment, Lei Ming even considered sending Kai a copy of the movie’s original cut.  

He wanted to see if, upon recognizing the protagonist’s eyes and realizing that Dong Jin and he had long had a mutual Divine Selection, the God of Revelry could still find anything to celebrate.  

Suppressing the flash of killing intent in his heart, Lei Ming continued:  

“That arrogant madman is even less likely to initiate conversations with anyone. Even if he suspected that other gods or demons had extended an olive branch to you, he wouldn’t care. Because he’s convinced that, in the end, your choice will always be him.” 

“Before you respond, the temporary divine descent is already the furthest he would ‘condescend to simple men.'”  

That said, Lei Ming was far from certain about it.  

Gods and demons have always had a weak sense of morality, and Kai, with his divine persona of revelry, valued freedom above all else, acting without any regard for rules or ethics.  

For someone like that, abandoning his arrogant demeanor one day wasn’t entirely out of the question.  

Tch, how annoying. If it weren’t for the divine selection period prohibiting private fights among gods and demons in the Supreme Universe…  

What interrupted Lei Ming’s resurgent killing intent was the cold, mechanical voice of the Supreme Universe’s Cosmic Will.  

No one knew exactly what the Cosmic Will said. What Dong Jin could tell was that, in that moment, the frustration on Lei Ming’s face, barely hidden behind his mask, was impossible to miss.  

The next second, the god suppressed his anger and said, “I have something to do, I’ll come back to find you on the seventh day.”  

As Lei Ming walked away, Dong Jin faintly heard him muttering something under his breath in divine language, cursing the Cosmic Will in a low voice.  

Though Dong Jin couldn’t make out the specifics, he caught the last sentence:  

“What, you think I’m a dog to order around? Just you wait!”  

Recalling Lei Ming’s massive energy debt to the Cosmic Will, Dong Jin guessed that the Supreme Universe’s Cosmic Will had just summoned him back to work.  

Truly, Lei Ming was pitiful.  

A dignified God of Night and Drama, now being run ragged. Why did he even bother with that stupid movie in the first place?  

If it weren’t for that, Dong Jin wouldn’t have such a headache now, either.  

Still reeling from his near-death experience, Dong Jin leaned against the sofa, rubbing his forehead. Having completely lost any desire to sleep, he picked up his phone to browse the forums—only to find an unread message sent at midnight by his universe’s Cosmic Will:  

“To my dearest MVP:”  

“Oh, baby, congratulations! You’ve done it, just as expected!”  

“To celebrate your victory, please head to the Entertainment Star within three days to attend the MVP celebration banquet.”  

“The top 1,000 on this universe’s comprehensive strength ranking will be present. Looking forward to seeing you there~”  

Dong Jin stared wordlessly at the message.  

Realizing its tone and phrasing were almost identical to the messages he had sent to those despicable hotel villains earlier, he couldn’t help but feel that his universe’s Cosmic Will was also a massive pain.  

Clearly, it just wanted to use the excuse of a “celebration banquet” to make the strongest trial-takers in this universe familiarize themselves with one another to prevent pointless infighting in upcoming multiplayer instances.  

What, afraid he’d curse at it like Lei Ming did?  

In light of this, it was hard to tell who had it worse—him or Lei Ming. 

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