At this question, the alarms in Old Xu's mind suddenly blared.
His sense of danger suddenly spiked, then plummeted, like a roller coaster—up and down, bizarrely erratic.
Old Xu had never encountered such a strange phenomenon. The hand holding his teacup began to tremble, and he quickly set it down. He picked up a nearby towel and gently wiped the table, a small act to hide his inner turmoil.
He agonized over his choice of words, various arguments surfacing in his mind.
Discussions about God from classical antiquity surfaced, as did the standard arguments of modern atheism. Old Xu wanted to quote the sages, to give the strange creature before him a proper explanation. But as the words reached his lips, he felt that anything he might say would be wrong.
Something was always missing.
After drinking cup after cup of tea, Old Xu's thoughts gradually cleared.
"Humanity needs a god."
Old Xu blurted out.
The moment he spoke those words, his sense of danger reached its peak.
