2 The Savior? Who?

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Zhiwei’s mind went completely blank.

No, at this moment, she could hardly even sense the presence of her own brain.

The host—no, the host sphere—was still going through the motions: “Zhiwei, you have five minutes to prepare. On the podium here are the devices at your disposal, where you can place your speech notes and detailed platform.”

…What speech notes and platform could she possibly have?

Five minutes. What could she do in five minutes? Even cooking instant noodles takes longer!

In that instant, Zhiwei’s mind flickered like static on an old, signal-less TV screen, emitting a faint, crackling hum from the large machine behind her.

She looked out at the audience—countless figures densely packed like stars.

Up front were real people, their expressions suddenly so close to her that she could read the doubt etched between their brows.

Behind them, ghostly silhouettes hovered, faces and forms shrouded in an ethereal glow—hazy and eerie, as if in a dream, yet uncannily real.

Supporting herself on the podium, she steadied her stance and looked up to see the bright red countdown timer suspended in the air, already ticking down.

[5:00]

[4:59]

[4:58]

…

Was this a countdown for a speech? It felt more like a countdown to her death, a countdown to the afterlife.

Zhiwei took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then slowly exhaled.

She forced herself to calm down, then extended her hand without hesitation and touched the virtual screen.

“It can’t get any worse,” she told herself, “so I must not just sit here dumbfounded—that’s just waiting to die.”

A stream of crystalline blue data flickered before her eyes. Because she hadn’t given any specific commands, the virtual screen didn’t know what information to load or search.

So, it displayed today’s Star Network news.

[The 327th Divine Election Begins Today…]

[A Historical Review of Humanity’s Greatest and Most Sacred Endeavor—The Election of Divinities…]

[Three thousand two hundred seventy years ago, after the death of the Sole God, the once-in-a-decade divine election was established, giving birth to these great gods…]

Zhiwei’s mind rapidly absorbed and synthesized the information.

Now, things were clear.

—She had traveled through time.

This was a future world, or rather, a parallel future world.

There truly were gods here. Three thousand two hundred seventy years ago, it wasn’t the Shang dynasty, no King Wu overthrowing Zhou—it was that one of their gods had died.

That god’s divine essence shattered and could not be restored; the god could not be resurrected. But humans could absorb the divine essence and become new gods.

Humanity discovered this truth, and after trials, wars, and struggles, they reached consensus: every ten years, a grand election would be held. The winner would enter the temple, receive the divine essence, and become a new god.

Zhiwei understood the situation, though not fully—she was simply overwhelmed.

…What a just and democratic world!

But what did this have to do with her?

She was here for a talent show, prepared with singing, dancing, rap, business acumen, and a touching partnership story. Now, the event was not a talent show but a divine election. What was she supposed to do?

While her mind raced, unnoticed by her, people were watching her.

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Those seated in the front rows were real people; the countless blurry figures behind them were holographic projections of viewers watching the live broadcast on the Star Network.

They could not enter the temple but followed the open auditions closely. With Zhiwei’s registration, her identity as someone from the Wasteland Star was synchronized to the Star Network.

The Wasteland Star was a remote region far from the interstellar center, stretching deep into the cosmos, deprived of resource support and divine protection, symbolizing savagery, backwardness, and weakness.

Her profile lacked any affiliated organization or past experience. Coming from the Wasteland Star, people guessed the worst about her.

On the live broadcast, viewers relentlessly fixated on this point.

“Who is Zhiwei? Her profile was just released, just signed up? No one heard a hint before.”

“Wasteland Star is so remote; even registration is on-site. This must be her one and only chance to enter the temple, huh?”

“She’s not shaking or turning pale. Looking serious and calm.”

“Most of Wasteland Star is polluted. People from there can’t be trusted. She actually dares to run for god?”

“Can Wasteland Star even elect gods now? Did she even gather enough travel expenses to the temple? Does she have a campaign platform? Has she controlled pollution? Has her pollution value passed inspection?”

The two commentators glanced at Zhiwei’s profile and exchanged looks.

One cleared his throat and addressed the viewers watching the audition livestream: “Hmm, Zhiwei hasn’t registered with any divine election organization; she’s running as an independent.”

Zhiwei had no past speeches or family gossip to liven things up, so the commentators were stuck making things up based on her info.

“Wasteland Star… I don’t recall anyone from there in the last election.”

“Yeah… but I just checked and found one candidate from Wasteland Star fifty years ago, who unfortunately didn’t pass the auditions.”

“Let me check her pollution value report…”

Then the commentator fell silent.

The other commentator’s heart skipped a beat. Trying to sound casual, he joked, “What, is her pollution value so high she can’t enter the election site? Did the handler mess up?”

“…It’s zero.” The commentator looked up blankly. “I really suspect the handler made a mistake. How could the pollution value here be zero?”

“What?!!”

There was dead silence in the comment section.

As everyone knew, excessive selfishness, greed, or living near polluted zones long-term, along with lack of piety toward the gods, would raise pollution values.

A persistently high pollution value would cause mental confusion and spiritual damage, turning a person into a polluter.

Pollution values typically range from 5 to 60. Above 60, one’s piety is questioned. But in over three thousand years, no one had ever had a pollution value of zero.

The commentators urgently contacted Hector but opened their mouths unsure what to ask.

What could they ask? “Is the machine broken?” Here was the temple, whose tests were the ultimate standard. If the temple said the pollution value was zero, that was the truth.

Zhiwei didn’t know she had caused a stir the moment she appeared. She stared at the countdown, quickly summarizing the news and her current situation.

Her throat moved. She had to say something.

If she said nothing, showed any oddity, in this fusion of religion, politics, and popular belief, she was as good as dead.

Zhiwei took two deep breaths, steadying herself, and noticed the countdown was down to three minutes and twenty-seven seconds.

…Think of herself, think of what she was good at: back in the 996 internet giant days, when she was an underground idol, had she never faced such a situation? Or something similar?

When in meetings she hadn’t heard a word but was suddenly called to speak, with no time to prepare, didn’t she just open her mouth and speak?

When on stage, caught off guard with an unpracticed dance, how did she improvise and keep up the idol’s business?

In her mind, information seen on the virtual screen wove into a network, and she tried to survive in the gaps.

She knew what to say.

First, divine elections had been going on for over three thousand years.

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Zhiwei lifted the corners of her mouth into a slight smile, her gaze sweeping the front rows, meeting the eyes of the audience and nodding politely.

“In such a magnificent cycle of electing gods, I am truly honored to stand here with you all to strengthen our shared understanding.”

The audience: ?

What did she mean?

Zhiwei understood that everyone thought she was here to run for godhood, so she had to adopt the attitude of a candidate.

Divine elections and talent contests were probably not so different—they needed some kind of action!

Even if she didn’t want to do anything, she had to make the audience think she was going to.

Zhiwei said, “The first step I will take is to delve deeper into strategies, build stronger bonds, lay out more matrices, and perform sincere value transformations.”

Audience: ??

Fine! Once she started talking about this, she found it easier to speak.

She could go on and on! And the more she spoke, the less nervous she felt!

Three thousand years, once every ten years, meant over three hundred gods had been chosen.

Over three hundred—quite a number. Compared to the sole god of over three thousand years ago, now having over three hundred gods was tremendous.

“I believe the current gods’ vertical domains are overly fragmented, lacking integration. This limits outreach and makes alignment at the granular level difficult.”

Audience: …Granular what?

So, what was Zhiwei going to do? She didn’t want to do anything but could spin dreams.

“I will empower divine management collectively, focus on key issues, identify levers, thoroughly understand the situation, connect bonds, build a new ecosystem, complete a closed-loop matrix, break existing barriers, and deliver a combination of powerful blows!”

At the end, she raised the tone, added a touch of provocation, so people would think she was bluffing and kick her out.

That way, she could exit gracefully, no longer having to run for godhood and could spend plenty of time figuring out how to return to her own world.

Removing herself from this divine election mess meant safety!

With this thought, she felt invigorated, her expression resolute beyond measure.

A fire seemed to burn deep in her eyes, her demeanor serious and determined. She slammed the podium hard.

“I will lead you all to restore the glory of the sole god from over three thousand years ago!”

Silence fell over the audience.

The commentators muted their microphones.

Zhiwei looked at the crowd expectantly. Come on, come on—I’m just babbling nonsense here, hurry and let me bow out!

After a brief pause, thunderous applause and cheers erupted.

“Oh my god! She actually wants to run for the sole god!”

“This is the most shocking platform I’ve ever heard—that’s how you run for godhood!”

“No wonder she has a pollution value of zero! Such heartfelt, bone-deep, burning devotion! Zhiwei! Zhiwei!”

“She wants to absorb the fallen god’s essence and become the savior! What a magnificent platform!”

Zhiwei: ???

Help! Shut up! When did I say any of that? Is that what I meant?!

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