GRMFBS CH60

Ji Yueming’s birthday was moved to Saturday night, since Zhan Yan had to return to school on Sunday and had classes on Monday.

As the birthday star, Ji Yueming didn’t need to do anything today.

She smiled as she watched Zhan Suiru and Zhan Yan bustling around, and obediently returned to her room without peeking at their “mysterious surprise” decorations.

Then, she received a message on the internal communication software of the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau.

Ji Yueming opened it—it was from the Great Ritual Dancer, Ling Zhou Wendí.

Great Ritual Dancer: “That kid who’s your little fan, how’s he doing now?”

“Approaching Science” had great info protection, but every message he sent still revealed a little about him—his personality, habits, etc. According to the Bureau’s profiling, “Approaching Science” was likely quite young.

Tianshi: “You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“Stop teasing the kid.”

Ji Yueming accurately exposed his intentions.

Ling Zhou Wendí had a restless personality. He’d just finished all his handovers and reports in the past few days, and now that there was nothing to do, he couldn’t sit still.

Great Ritual Dancer: “Tsk tsk tsk, with your so-proper contact approach, when are you ever gonna bring him into the Bureau?”

“That kid might be polite on the surface, but inside he probably thinks you’re too distant.”

Ji Yueming paused to think.

She really couldn’t deny that. “Approaching Science” might really be nervous around her. Last time, she offered to guide him, and he only asked an irrelevant question about animal affinity.

Was it because he was too nervous around her to ask real questions?

Great Ritual Dancer: “That’s why things like this should be left to the professionals.”

“I’m gonna go charm the little guy~”

Tianshi: “I don’t recommend that.”

“It’s risky.”

But Ling Zhou Wendí didn’t reply again. Ji Yueming wasn’t even sure if he saw her last message.

Ling Zhou Wendí’s character wasn’t a problem, but his personality was far from “normal.” His mouth especially—unless in front of a select few, it never behaved.

If he ended up irritating “Approaching Science,” with the latter’s abilities, it was unclear who’d get the short end of the stick.

…

Zhan Yan and Zhan Suiru were choosing a cake style. To involve their brother Zhan Jinli, who couldn’t make it home, Zhan Suiru video-called him and chatted via text on the call.

Meanwhile, Zhan Yan called Zhan Yunkai to ask how his filming was going and whether he could make it back. If not, at least join via video.

Zhan Yunkai had just finished catching a traitor and, seething, packaged up the corpse-flower konjac and dumped it in Shennongjia for others to interrogate. Then he dove into mountain hot springs and cold pools, washing himself seven times back and forth.

Wearing a scowl, he asked the wolf demon Bai Po, “Smell me. Do I still reek?”

Bai Po’s huge wolf head sniffed and asked, “I don’t smell anything. Where’d the pollen get on you?”

Zhan Yunkai stretched out his left wing. “The tip.”

Bai Po stared at the missing feathered part of the wing in shock: “You plucked your feathers?!”

“The tips got covered.” Zhan Yunkai grumbled.

“You plucked them and took seven baths?!” Bai Po asked, incredulous.

“I just feel gross. Like the stench is still there.” Zhan Yunkai said with disgust. He’d even burned the contaminated feathers but still felt uncomfortable.

“The area’s gone. There can’t be any smell left!” Bai Po muttered. “I think you’re sick. Humans have a term for this—what was it? Cleanliness OCD? That’s you!”

Zhan Yunkai cast him a disdainful glance. “As if you don’t obsess over your fur-care creams.”

Bai Po was extremely particular about his silver fur—always grooming it, then climbing a rock under the moonlight to howl dramatically.

“That’s image management! Not the same as your OCD.” Bai Po proudly shook his smooth, flowing fur.

Zhan Yunkai ignored him and looked at himself again. “I think I’ll take a few more baths and head back in a couple days…”

Bai Po couldn’t take it anymore: “Fine, fine! Once the traitor’s been interrogated, I’ll hang him out to dry and burn him for you, okay?”

Zhan Yunkai sharply looked up. “You wanna make the entire Wan Yao Alliance smell like rot?!”

Bai Po: …

He didn’t think that through.

Just as Zhan Yunkai was contemplating switching hot springs, his phone rang—from beneath his wing, a feather vibrated.

He flapped his wing and shifted back to human form, answering the call:

“Yan Yan… I might need a few more days. Still some things to handle, not sure when I’ll finish, but it won’t be long.”

“Your mom’s celebrating early? I’ll be back soon.”

“No worries! Just small stuff!”

“I’ll be back soon!”

The call had a bit of an echo. After hanging up, Zhan Yan turned and saw his sister laughing, and his brother in the video call—while expressionless—was clearly suppressing laughter based on Zhan Yan’s many years of experience.

Zhan Yunkai, after the call, sniffed himself again.

Bai Po lost it: “No smell! Don’t you trust my nose?”

Zhan Yunkai frowned: “I’ll go buy some cologne.”

After leaving the Demon Alliance, Zhan Yunkai hit a mall and tried every cologne counter, finally choosing a warm and pleasant scent.

This one’s good! All premium ingredients—he could tell.

When the spray nozzle wouldn’t open, Zhan Yunkai sprayed himself generously, but still wasn’t satisfied. So he snapped off the nozzle head and poured the bottle over his left shoulder.

Sploosh—

Doused!

…

After choosing the cake and decorating the room, Zhan Yan collapsed on the sofa.

Where did his sister even find so many bizarre props?

But they somehow looked great together.

Then why were her art studio pieces always so… ugly?

Zhan Yan pondered but wisely kept the thought to himself—saying it out loud might get him punched.

“Yan Yan, your stamina sucks. You still need training.” Zhan Suiru was full of energy.

Zhan Yan: “…I just sat on a bus for hours yesterday!”

How was she still full of energy?!

“Let me rest. Leave me alone.” Zhan Yan curled up in the recliner.

While resting, Zhan Yan logged onto the Chaofan Forum to clear private messages. He suddenly saw a bunch of people tagging him in one post.

He’d been too busy lately to visit the watering-hole threads. Judging by the crazed tags, it looked like someone important had called him out.

He clicked on the post. It was a half-teaching, half-ranking thread.

It explained ritual practices and also ranked and analyzed video clips of ritual experts—used as reference materials.

Why were people tagging him in such a serious post?

Zhan Yan kept reading.

Rituals were abilities gained through learning and cultivation, used to communicate with the powers of heaven and earth. The Great Ritual Dancer was the top expert in this field—his ritual domains were massive and powerful, nearly forming absolute zones. Naturally, he appeared most frequently in the video examples.

All his videos were crisp, official Bureau teaching clips.

In them, the Great Ritual Dancer wore majestic ceremonial robes. His painted face looked solemn and mysterious. Barefoot and holding a hand-drum, he danced.

Experts admired the grace in his every move. Even non-experts found it beautiful to watch.

This Dancer was also highly active—regularly seen replying to threads—one of the site’s true top influencers.

Zhan Yan found where the derail started:

64L:
“Waaah I wanna be a Wenwu Dance Acolyte for the Great Ritual Dancer!”

(Dance Acolytes assist the lead in multi-person rituals. There are Wen [cultural], Wu [martial], and Music Acolytes.)

Most rituals could be done solo or in teams. Weak practitioners needed help; strong ones could amplify power with partners.

65L:
“Me too!”

67L:
“Has the Dancer ever used Acolytes or Musicians? I’ve never seen him with anyone.”

68L:
“True, I haven’t either.”

72L:
“How come y’all have seen the Dancer perform rituals live?! I’ve only licked pixels from vids. Jealous!”

73L:
“Surely the Bureau’s annual field rituals aren’t done by him alone, right?”

76L:
“I heard he used to have a partner years ago, but now he always works solo.”

79L:
“Help! How do you build ritual sync with a partner? I’ve been training with mine for half a year—it’s torture!”

82L:
“Reply to 79L: Just change partners, maybe.”

86L Great Ritual Dancer:
“Reply to 79L: No wonder it’s painful. You’re forcing sync through rituals. Try gaming together instead—find synergy in-game, it’ll carry into real life.”

88L:
“Aaaaah he replied to me!!!”

90L:
“What if we’ve tried everything and still don’t sync? 🐶”

93L Great Ritual Dancer:
“Reply to 90L: At that point, just get married.”

94L:
“HAHAHAHAHA.”

After that, the post’s popularity exploded as people poured in with questions. The Great Ritual Dancer answered many of them.

Then the derailing reached its peak when gossipers joined:

132L:
“@Great Ritual Dancer, are you recruiting partners right now?! If not, I’ll settle for being a Dance Acolyte!”

134L Great Ritual Dancer:
“Reply to 132L: I’m thinking about taking in some info-type cuties.”

137L:
“Huh??? Why info-types?”

140L:
“Ooh ooh I know! If the lead’s ritual syncs with heaven and earth well enough, they receive encoded messages—like turtle-shell divinations—that need professional interpretation.”

141L:
“Tried before. Info-types couldn’t decode them. Dancer’s probably trying to see if they can decode them from inside the ritual itself.”

143L:
“Wait, so no one’s been able to decode those for years?”

144L:
“Right. Used to work fine. But 20+ years ago, they just… stopped being readable.”

Twenty years ago. Zhan Yan immediately latched onto that phrase.

That was 26 years ago—around when Infinite first touched their world. Could this be related?

Unfortunately, the posters didn’t know the reason either, and the topic shifted again.

Someone asked what kind of Dance Acolyte the Dancer wanted.

168L Great Ritual Dancer:
“First: must be capable. I’d like to try a newbie.”

169L Great Ritual Dancer:
“Isn’t there a new info-type with good skills recently?”

“Isn’t he called ‘Approaching Science’?”

169L Great Ritual Dancer:
“I like good-looking ones.”

Zhan Yan: “???”