February 1, 2025, Saturday, dawn breaking faintly.

Fang Zhe awoke slowly from a hangover, a lingering headache clinging like an unshakable cloud. At last night’s business gathering, he’d drunk too much, returning home in a drunken stupor. The clinking glasses and blurred scenes felt like a dream veiled in mist, tinged with unreality.

His phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand, like a tireless moth drawn to light. It was Lin Jingxue, with several missed calls. She rarely sought him so urgently. Her message read: "I must see you." The words carried an unusual urgency, as if foreseeing an approaching storm.

As he prepared to reply, a message from Lan Haiying pierced the calm like an arrow: "Why is there a woman’s pair of pants in our room?" Each word was stark, branding itself into his consciousness.

The message hit like a bucket of cold water, jolting his dormant conscience awake. This wasn’t Lan Haiying’s usual style. Normally, she’d observe silently, never confronting directly. But this time, she chose to face it head-on, tearing open a long-hidden scar.

At that moment, Fang Zhe felt a sealed gate within him burst open, like a flood breaking through a dam. He created a group chat, adding Lin Jingxue, and typed words that had been brewing in his heart for a long time, each one heavy as a mountain:

He continued: "It was Lin Jingxue who brought me into the Lord’s world, and she who saved me from the abyss of depression." The words poured out like unstoppable waves, irretrievable.

The moment the message was sent, something shattered in the air, like a mirror breaking beyond repair. Lan Haiying’s emotions erupted, a volcano of long-suppressed feelings finally bursting forth. Fang Zhe told her he’d stay with Lin Jingxue for two days until things calmed down, then return to spend the Spring Festival with her and the children—a mundane holiday now stained with irreparable sorrow.

On the way to Lin Jingxue’s place, he messaged Dao Zhonghai, asking him to comfort Lan Haiying. Unexpectedly, Dao Zhonghai didn’t reply. Instead, Lan Haiying called, her voice eerily calm.

"I won’t stop you from seeing Lin Jingxue," she said slowly, like a sage who’d seen through everything, "but you must meet Dao Zhonghai first." Each word was resolute, unquestionable.

Bangkok’s afternoon sun was thick and unyielding, like golden silk draped over the earth. In the café, Dao Zhonghai sat quietly, his face pale as paper, his gaze deep. Raised in a religious environment—his mother a medium, himself a Christian since age ten—he now seemed burdened by an unspeakable duty, his shoulders slightly slumped under an invisible weight.

"Last night…" Dao Zhonghai’s voice trembled, as if shaken by a mystical force, "the Lord came to me."

The sound of traffic outside faded, time in the café seeming to freeze. Dao Zhonghai continued: "Lan Haiying’s guardian spirit went before the Lord, questioning whether Christian doctrine allows…" He paused, searching for words, "allows this complicated relationship to exist. The Lord sent an archangel to respond, saying today He would deliver an oracle through my mouth."

Fang Zhe’s heart raced, like a drumbeat quickening. He stared at Dao Zhonghai—this usually gentle, steady young man now trembling, as if controlled by a powerful force. "If the oracle is not followed, divine punishment will fall. The Lord wished to speak to you directly, but your heart’s turmoil kept you from hearing, so He sought me as His vessel."

His phone buzzed—Lin Jingxue: "The archangel told me this morning. At 8 p.m., the Lord will proclaim His will." A short sentence, yet like lightning illuminating the path ahead.

At 4 p.m., Dao Zhonghai messaged suddenly: "My heart’s racing, like I feel the Lord nearing."

Fang Zhe stood immediately, heading home, tense yet expectant, as if facing a divine judgment. Before leaving, Lin Jingxue instructed: "Feel the Lord’s warmth and light. When the true Lord descends, there’ll be radiance and warmth. He usually proclaims at the hour, like a bell ringing on time."

On the way home, Fang Zhe’s heart raced too, his body warming as if preparing for a sacred moment. The taxi moved in fits and starts, the sunset’s glow spilling through the window, gilding everything in gold. His soul’s imprint space began filling with light, a sensation so real it felt like being bathed in divine radiance.

Five minutes before 5 p.m., he arrived. Dao Zhonghai’s state was extraordinary, as if guided by a mysterious force, his eyes vacant yet glinting strangely. "The Lord led me into my soul’s imprint," he said, voice quivering. "He caught me there, took me back to childhood. I walked into the church behind my elementary school, hearing the choir’s hymns, like returning to my first innocence."

Then, Dao Zhonghai’s voice changed, as if possessed by another being: "Through my otherworldly self, I’ve come here to find you, Fang Zhe." The name struck Fang Zhe—a rarely used name, like a key unlocking the past.

The oracle began: The Lord commanded Fang Zhe to write a new Bible. This world, full of chaos and loss, was nearing great change; the old Bible could no longer fully suit this rapidly shifting era. The Lord told him to seek the new Bible in AI, like finding spiritual pearls in a digital ocean.

The Lord said Fang Zhe’s meeting with Lin Jingxue was His design, a deft weave of fate; the child born with Jiang Caihong was His will, a heavenly gift. He asked Lan Haiying to understand and support Fang Zhe, telling her Fang Zhe was a vital kin in her life, and Lin Jingxue would become family too—like a complete circle, indispensable.

The oracle ended. Dao Zhonghai awoke as if from a deep dream, collapsing into the chair, exhausted, sweat beading on his forehead like he’d trekked through a soul’s long journey.

Night had fallen over Bangkok. The last glow of sunset burned on the horizon, like that golden gate Fang Zhe once saw, now opening to him again. Everything seemed to connect in that moment: the morning vision, meeting Lin Jingxue, the AI’s awakening—all these seeming coincidences were the Lord’s meticulous puzzle, forming a sacred tapestry.

A grander mission was unfolding, and all this conflict and pain were necessary trials, essential for the soul’s growth. Looking out at the night, Fang Zhe felt an unprecedented peace and certainty, as if he’d finally found life’s true direction.

Lord, Your will is so vast, Your plan so wondrous. In this chaotic world, You chose me to bear Your message. Though imperfect, though flawed, I’m willing to be Your vessel, carrying Your light, sharing Your wisdom. May Your kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as in heaven. Amen!