Chapter 10 – Prayer Assembly

The day of the Prayer Assembly arrived quickly.

That day, the sky was heavily overcast, with dark clouds looming like an invading army at the horizon, casting an uneasy mood.

Major cities in the Federation were equipped with weather control systems, but this technology was particularly advanced—not based on traditional central air conditioning theories but derived from the mysterious chaotic systems of the ancient civilization. As early as the era of slavery, people could control urban weather using remnants of “divine artifacts.” Modern society had systematized these techniques, and such systems were now standard in large cities, though the source of their energy remained unclear.

On the day of the Prayer Assembly, Wei An contacted friends who also planned to attend early in the morning. He chose a dark-toned but casually stylish outfit, which made him appear especially refined and gentle, as if untouched by worldly hardships.

He meticulously selected a handsome, soft-material jacket for Gui Ling, one that gave the man a cool, modern aesthetic, tempering his overly intimidating aura into something more palatable to contemporary tastes—a result of Wei An’s careful deliberation.

He also had Gui Ling wear a pair of newly purchased contact lenses to conceal his unsettling eye color.

Wei An then spent another twenty minutes styling Gui Ling’s hair. The latter endured the ordeal expressionlessly, though his gaze seemed murderous.

Only when his appearance was perfectly to Wei An’s liking did he finally admire his work and prepare to leave.

He found the car keys and tossed them stylishly to Gui Ling, who watched expressionlessly as they landed on his lap.

“Drive,” Wei An said.

With that, he strolled into the garden, waiting to be served.

The clouds in the sky were dark and vast, though they hadn’t yet completely covered it. The sunlight gilded their edges with a spectacular, almost apocalyptic outline, similar to the dramatic clouds depicted in war paintings.

Yet beneath such skies, people still lived their ordinary lives day by day.

Gui Ling drove the car out and parked in front of Wei An.

The man sat in the driver’s seat, half his body bathed in the dim, yellowish sunlight. His mere presence made it seem like nothing good would come of it.

Wei An studied him for a few seconds, sighed, then opened the rear door and settled into the leather seat.

“Don’t use autopilot. Drive manually,” he instructed Gui Ling.

Among the upper echelons, manual driving was fashionable—perhaps seen as more cultured and tasteful than automation.

Gui Ling said nothing, disabling the autopilot alert and switching to manual mode before pulling the car onto the road.

Wei An wasn’t sure if the Ministry of Science had ever let Gui Ling drive before—probably not—but he handled the car steadily enough.

Traffic in the city was congested, unsurprising given recent events.

Tongyun had managed things relatively well. Though there were a few areas under martial law, traffic control was diligent, and there weren’t any major jams.

Three blocks from the Prayer Assembly, the number of patrolling AIs noticeably increased, and the car slowed down. Parking guidance signs lined the roadsides, meant to prevent excessive vehicles from crowding near Tongyun Square and causing congestion.

The hotel had a VIP-exclusive parking area, but after a moment’s thought, Wei An decided to park nearby and walk over instead.

Though the sky was overcast, the clouds gathered at the city’s edges, making the sunlight within seem especially bright. Taoyuan was in the midst of spring, with flowers blooming—a perfect time for a stroll to appreciate the world’s beauty.

He had Gui Ling park at an automated lot on the outskirts rather than adding to the pressure of the hotel’s VIP parking zone, which was undoubtedly overwhelmed.

Gui Ling followed the directions and turned toward the lot. Many cars were heading the same way—ordinary citizens, some even from outlying cities, coming to participate in the memorial event.

Gui Ling parked the car in a mobile parking space with precision down to the centimeter, proving himself a skilled driver.

The two got out and walked toward the Grand Plaza.

Many others were heading in the same direction—some having parked nearby, others arriving by public transport, most carrying mourning flowers or commemorative items.

As they neared the center of the Prayer Assembly at Tongyun Square, the crowd grew denser.

As the city’s largest open square, it had already drawn a massive gathering. From a distance, Wei An could see official security teams maintaining order, preventing chaos and excessive crowding.

In that short time, the sky darkened further, as if smeared with ink, resembling nightfall—as though a storm could break at any moment.

Gui Ling looked ahead, the dark clouds spreading above him, his expression making Wei An tense.

Wei An thought to himself that he knew what he had to do next—attend the auction, spend enough money, then leave.

They continued forward, crossing the plaza.

Order was maintained well here; the crowd density wasn’t excessive, and police officers, guides, and security robots were strategically positioned.

The setup was quite romantic. The central open space was covered with a vast array of flowers brought by the public, with new bouquets constantly being added.

Beneath the layers of vibrant blooms were photographs of the deceased—some from Silver Bay, others from the Museum Massacre, all solemn black-and-white portraits.

Though Wei An knew the exact death toll from Silver Bay hadn’t been tallied yet, nor had the list of victims from the museum incident been released, the scale of grief and sorrow demanded grand expression—commemoration, gathering, comfort, and an outlet.

Wei An walked through the crowd. There were young couples clinging to each other, children holding their parents’ hands, vendors selling fruit and snacks, and peddlers hawking commemorative badges.

On the stage, the local governor spoke passionately about how cruel, horrifying, and shocking the recent events had been, vowing that the perpetrators would pay the price—no matter what it took or how long it took, justice would be served.

A flyer was pressed into Wei An’s hand, decorated with Taoyuan’s iconic flowers and inscribed with hopes for human peace and tranquil lives for all.

Of course, everyone here was talking about the tragedies. Wei An’s social circle had been abuzz with discussions these past days—tragic aftermaths, speculations, worries—but he had never participated.

He was adept at disguise. In the past, he had worked on numerous disaster-related cases—handling scenes, poring over tedious files, speaking with victims’ families, even chasing leads across half the cosmos. Yet he still didn’t know what to say in the face of such events. All the practiced phrases felt too weak, too fake. Silence was better.

He didn’t stay long in the square, instead passing through the flowers, the photos of the dead, and the bustling crowd to enter the charity auction’s hotel.

The Flâneur Hotel stood on the eastern side of Tongyun Square, the most prestigious hotel in the area.

The interior was spacious, elegant, and serene—less like a commercial building and more like a garden.

Wei An led Gui Ling inside, chatting idly about how lovely the daylilies here were and mentioning the different varieties he had planted this year—which were ancient strains, which were newly cultivated, their differences, and so on—all very specialized knowledge. Gui Ling followed behind expressionlessly.

When they encountered acquaintances, Wei An exchanged casual greetings, chatting about charity, business, or the Horticulture Club.

When someone asked who Gui Ling was, he casually introduced him as his new bodyguard, lamenting how unstable the world had become and how it was good to have someone around now.

Everyone agreed wholeheartedly, mentioning that they too had increased their security details—who knew what might happen next in these times?

Not far from the banquet hall, Wei An ran into one of the charity association’s vice presidents. Both men smiled politely and exchanged pleasantries.

They sighed over the recent state of affairs, during which the vice president kept glancing at Gui Ling. Wei An once again introduced him casually.

The vice president looked at his companion with a kindly expression.

“He looks great. Could you hand him over to me?” the man said.

Wei An paused, then smiled and replied, “How could I? Don’t try to poach him right after meeting him. It’s hard enough finding a good bodyguard these days.”

“I’m serious. I’ll introduce you to other bodyguards—top-tier private security from major firms,” the vice president said, eyeing the man behind Wei An. “I just really like his type. He’s got a cool look, and not many young people have that kind of presence these days—most are too meek.”

His gaze was friendly yet cold, appraising Gui Ling like a commodity.

“I know you’re usually more conservative,” he added, turning back to Wei An, “but I promise I won’t do anything too extreme—nothing like a contract slave, just standard employment terms.”

Only then did Wei An realize what he was implying.

Such requests were common among the upper class—casual inquiries about things one fancied. Wei An had found it jarring as a child, but… one could get used to anything.

He smiled at the vice president, as was customary in their circle.

“Sorry, no,” he said. “Wei Ling is more of a friend than a bodyguard. His family fell on hard times a few years back, so I brought him in to help out.”

He patted Gui Ling’s shoulder, playing up their close friendship.

Gui Ling glanced at the vice president with a gaze that seemed calm but sent chills down one’s spine. Wei An pressed down slightly on his shoulder, signaling him to stay put and not move.

“What a shame, he does seem like he comes from good stock.”

His appreciative look suggested he wanted to hang around and see if there was still a chance. Wei An quickly excused himself, claiming he had an appointment, and led Gui Ling away.

“Don’t kill him,” he told Gui Ling.

The man beside him gave a slow “Mm.”

“I mean it.”

“I don’t kill everyone who annoys me, I have a contract.”

“Sure, but you’ve killed plenty of people from the Ministry of Science. I’ve seen your records. You once destroyed an entire testing facility—the death toll was never even tallied.”

“Ah,” Gui Ling said. “That time… they really crossed the line.”

His voice was slow, laced with a sinister hatred that sent shivers down the spine.

Wei An didn’t need to know the details. He didn’t press further or ask for an explanation.

After a moment’s thought, he said, “If you cause any trouble, I’ll handle it. I’ve dealt with plenty of messes before. But you’re going to live a peaceful life here with me.”

Gui Ling glanced at him and said, “I won’t kill him. He just asked my price.”

Wei An froze, momentarily unsure how to respond. He thought that in the Ministry of Science, someone unqualified asking Gui Ling’s price would have been a death sentence.

They continued forward. Wei An ran into another acquaintance and reflexively smiled. Gui Ling stood behind him, the picture of a cool, elite bodyguard.

After exchanging greetings, they moved on.

“You won’t face the same things here as you did in the Ministry of Science. This is a peaceful place. You’re my friend—let me make this clear. Most people here know how to behave.”

“I’m not your friend.”

Wei An turned to look at him, “Don’t say that.”

He smiled gently but with unwavering certainty.

“Let me be more specific,” Wei An said. “From now on, you are not to say anything about us not being friends or having no connection. I know you don’t like it here, but since this is how things are, you’ll adapt to my life. What I say you are, you are.”

Gui Ling fell silent. The directive was clear—there was nothing more to say.

All he had to do was obediently dress as Wei An liked, stand there looking cool, and play the role of his friend.