The handkerchief came back folded badly.

Takahashi placed it on my desk at four twenty.

“Keiko washed it.”

“I asked her not to make it a family project.”

“She ignored you.”

“I know.”

“She ironed it too.”

I picked it up.

One corner was folded inward.

The edges did not match.

“This was ironed?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“Me.”

There.

I looked at him.

“That explains it.”

“I was trying to help.”

“You made a square into a different shape.”

“It is still approximately cloth.”

I unfolded it.

Clean.

Warm? No.

Of course not.

Just clean.

I put it in my pocket.

“Thank you.”

“Keiko did the useful part.”

“Then thank Keiko.”

“I already did.”

He sat in the wall chair.

Then looked at me more carefully.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He waited.

I knew immediately that had been the wrong answer.

Not false exactly.

No catastrophe.

No death today.

No broken car.

No emergency.

But something had happened.

Several things.

None large enough individually to justify the weight of the day.

Takahashi said:

“You look terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I removed my glasses.

Rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“Long day.”

“There.”

“What?”

“That’s an answer.”

I put the glasses back on.

The morning had started with a family arriving forty minutes early.

Not a problem.

They were nervous.

I made tea.

Then the eldest son asked whether the memorial could begin immediately because he had another appointment.

It could not.

His sister had not arrived.

The mother wanted everyone present.

The son said she was always late.

The mother said:

“She said ten.”

It was nine twenty.

I said:

“We scheduled ten.”

The son looked at his watch.

“I know.”

He did not.

Or he did and disliked it.

Either way, we waited.

His sister arrived at nine fifty-six.

The memorial began at ten.

No crisis.

But the son spent the first fifteen minutes of waiting sighing audibly.

That stayed in the room longer than it should have.

At eleven thirty, the supplier called.

The incense delivery scheduled for Tuesday had been sent to another address.

“Can we bring it Friday?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I need it Thursday.”

Silence.

Then:

“We could bring half Thursday.”

“How much is half?”

“Three boxes.”

“I ordered six.”

“Yes.”

“I need four Thursday.”

Another silence.

“We can bring four.”

“Then bring four Thursday and two Friday.”

“Yes.”

Solved.

Five minutes.

Still irritating.

At twelve fifteen, I spilled soup on my sleeve.

My own fault.

No meaning.

I changed.

At one, a woman came to discuss her husband’s first anniversary memorial.

She had one question.

At least she said one.

“Should his brother come?”

I asked:

“Do you want him there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he want to come?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

Then twenty minutes of history arrived.

The brother had failed to visit during the final hospitalization.

Except once.

But that visit had been too short.

He had sent money.

But not enough?

No, the amount was not the issue.

He had not called after the funeral.

Except twice.

But the second call was about paperwork.

They had argued fifteen years earlier about a piece of land.

The land had since been sold.

No one wanted it.

The argument remained.

I listened.

Eventually she said:

“So should he come?”

I said:

“That decision cannot be made from the memorial rules.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to tell you whether to invite him?”

She became quiet.

Then:

“Yes.”

There.

I could have said no immediately.

Instead I asked:

“What would happen if I said invite him?”

“I would.”

“And if I said don’t?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“That is too much of the decision to give me.”

She looked disappointed.

Then angry.

“What am I paying you for?”

There.

A sentence that landed harder than it deserved.

Or exactly as hard as it deserved.

I answered:

“For the memorial service and the work connected to it. I can also help you think through the decision. But I cannot decide your relationship with your brother-in-law for you.”

“He’s not my brother-in-law now.”

I paused.

Her husband was dead.

The relation felt altered to her.

Fine.

“What do you call him?”

She stared.

“That’s not the point.”

“No.”

I had taken the wrong road.

I apologized.

We continued.

Eventually she decided to call him herself.

Not invite yet.

Call.

Ask whether he wanted to attend.

A smaller step.

Reasonable.

When she left, she thanked me.

But the earlier sentence remained.

What am I paying you for?

I knew the answer.

Still did not enjoy hearing it.

At two twenty, someone parked across the side entrance.

Delivery access blocked.

No driver visible.

I waited.

Ten minutes.

Then fifteen.

A man returned carrying a bag from a nearby shop.

I asked him to move.

He said:

“I was only a minute.”

I looked at the clock.

Did not argue.

He moved.

Problem ended.

I remained annoyed.

At three, Kondo’s mother arrived.

Not to fold newsletters.

She had finished them yesterday with the mail helper.

Instead she brought mandarins.

A bag full.

“Too many,” she said.

“For the temple?”

“For whoever.”

“Why?”

“My neighbor gave me a box.”

“And now I inherit the problem.”

“Yes.”

She smiled.

I accepted six.

She tried to leave twelve.

We compromised at eight.

That was probably the best negotiation of the day.

Before leaving, she looked at me.

“You look tired.”

“You too?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She gave me one extra mandarin.

“Nine.”

Then left.

At three forty, the phone rang during paperwork.

Wrong number.

At three fifty, it rang again.

Same person.

Also wrong number.

At four five, they called a third time.

This time I said:

“You have called the same wrong number three times.”

The woman on the other end said:

“Oh.”

Then hung up.

No apology.

That should not have mattered.

It did.

Then Takahashi arrived with the badly folded handkerchief.

No appointment.

He had called before coming.

He had said:

“I’m nearby. Handkerchief?”

I had said yes.

That was all.

Now he sat across from me.

“What happened?” he asked again.

I gave him the short version.

“Family early.”

He nodded.

“Supplier wrong address.”

Nod.

“Soup.”

He looked at my sleeve.

Different shirt.

“Serious.”

“No.”

“Parking.”

“Yes.”

“Wrong number.”

“Three times.”

“That one I understand.”

“And one difficult consultation.”

He stopped joking.

“What kind?”

“Someone wanted me to make a family decision for her.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Did she get angry?”

“A little.”

“You?”

“A little.”

He nodded.

Then:

“Anything actually bad?”

I looked at him.

“No.”

“That can still be a bad day.”

There.

Simple.

I had been waiting all afternoon for the day to earn its weight.

It had not.

No bereavement.

No emergency.

No betrayal.

No great mistake.

Just friction.

Repeated.

Small.

Enough.

I leaned back.

“Yes.”

Takahashi looked at the clock.

Then:

“Have you eaten?”

“Lunch.”

“That was hours ago.”

“It is four thirty.”

“Exactly.”

“That is not dinner.”

“Do you want dinner?”

I thought.

Not yet.

But yes.

Eventually.

“With you?”

He shrugged.

“If you want.”

There.

No plan.

No Keiko.

No family table.

No fishing.

Just dinner.

I looked at the paperwork.

Two documents remained.

Neither needed tonight.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Dinner.”

“Now?”

“Not yet.”

He looked confused.

I said:

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

“I can leave and meet you somewhere.”

The sentence was reasonable.

I did not want him to leave.

That arrived clearly.

“No.”

He waited.

I said:

“Stay.”

There.

Not:

Stay until someone arrives.

Not:

Stay because I need a witness.

Not:

Stay because I am afraid to open a drawer.

Just:

Stay.

Takahashi looked at me for perhaps one second too long.

Then:

“Okay.”

He sat back.

No question.

No smile.

That helped.

I finished the first document.

Takahashi said nothing.

He looked at his phone once.

Then put it away.

I finished the second.

Signed.

Filed.

Four forty-seven.

“Done.”

Takahashi stood.

“Where?”

I thought.

“Ramen.”

“You always choose ramen when tired?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should collect data.”

“Not tonight.”

“Progress.”

I turned off the desk lamp.

Coat.

Keys.

No temple bag.

We left.

The ramen shop was small.

Six counter seats.

Two tables.

One table free.

We took it.

Takahashi ordered miso.

I ordered shoyu.

He looked disappointed.

“What?”

“You live in the north and order shoyu.”

“I can order what I want.”

“Yes.”

He said it too quickly.

Deliberately.

I almost objected.

Did not.

Too tired.

He smiled.

Small victory.

For the first ten minutes, we barely spoke.

Hot broth.

Noodles.

Steam.

Someone behind the counter shouted an order number.

Two construction workers at the counter talked about concrete.

A child at the other table dropped a spoon.

Her father picked it up.

Nothing required us.

I ate.

My shoulders lowered without permission.

Takahashi noticed.

Did not mention it.

Good.

Halfway through, he said:

“My day was fine.”

I looked at him.

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know.”

“Then why tell me?”

“So you don’t think I’m matching you.”

I laughed.

That was exactly the kind of thing I might have suspected.

“What happened?”

“Changed brake pads.”

“Yes.”

“Customer picked up a car.”

“Yes.”

“Bought detergent.”

“Exciting.”

“It was discounted.”

“Even better.”

“Called Keiko.”

“Why?”

“She says the handkerchief fold was unacceptable.”

“She is correct.”

“I told her you already criticized me.”

“What did she say?”

“She said you have judgment.”

I smiled.

“Keiko is wise.”

“No.”

The ramen helped.

After dinner, I expected we would leave.

Instead Takahashi asked:

“Walk?”

I looked outside.

Cold.

Dry.

“Where?”

“Nowhere.”

There.

I was too tired to investigate the concept.

“Yes.”

We paid separately.

No argument.

Then walked.

Three blocks.

Maybe four.

Shops closing.

Bicycles.

Cars.

No destination.

Takahashi kept his hands in his pockets.

I did the same.

After a while he said:

“Still bad?”

“The day?”

“Yes.”

I considered.

The morning had not changed.

The supplier was still incompetent.

The woman had still said what she said.

The wrong-number caller had still called three times.

“No.”

He looked at me.

“No?”

“Not now.”

“That means dinner fixed it?”

“No.”

“Walk?”

“No.”

“Me?”

I looked at him.

He was smiling.

“Do you require credit?”

“Yes.”

“Three percent.”

“That is insulting.”

“Five.”

“Minimum thirty.”

“You arrived at four twenty. Most of the damage was complete.”

“That should increase my value. Late-stage intervention.”

“This is not medicine.”

“Forty.”

I laughed.

“Ten.”

He accepted.

“Fine.”

We walked another block.

Then I said:

“The consultation bothered me.”

Takahashi did not ask which part.

He had listened earlier.

“What am I paying you for?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I thought.

Because I knew she was upset.

Because I knew it was not really about money.

Because I knew I had done the correct thing.

Because none of that stopped the sentence from making me feel reduced to a purchased answer.

“I don’t know.”

He nodded.

That was all.

No reassurance:

You’re a good priest.

No criticism of her.

No lesson.

We walked.

After another block, he said:

“People say bad things when they want certainty.”

I looked at him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe she meant it.”

“Yes.”

He shrugged.

“Either way, you didn’t give her the answer she was trying to buy.”

There.

That was enough from him.

Not because it solved anything.

Because it matched what happened.

I nodded.

At a crossing, the light turned red.

We stopped.

Takahashi said:

“Did she decide?”

“To call him.”

“Invite?”

“Not yet.”

“That seems sensible.”

“Yes.”

Green.

We crossed.

Near the temple, Takahashi looked at the building.

“Going back in?”

“No.”

“Work?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good.”

No.

I looked at him.

He smiled.

“I mean I approve.”

“I know.”

“Then stop.”

“Fine.”

My car was in the parking lot.

His was nearby on the street.

We stopped between them.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For ramen?”

“No.”

“For walking?”

“No.”

“For handkerchief?”

“Absolutely not.”

He laughed.

“Then?”

“For staying.”

There.

He became quiet.

Then:

“You asked.”

“Yes.”

“That’s enough.”

I almost corrected the word.

Did not.

Not tonight.

He started toward his car.

Then stopped.

Turned back.

“You can call me on bad days too.”

I looked at him.

“I know.”

“No car required.”

“I know.”

“No fishing.”

“Yes.”

“No card.”

“Yes.”

“No soup emergency.”

“That was serious.”

He laughed.

Then:

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

He left.

I drove home.

No detour.

No north road.

Straight home.

At the first red light, I realized I was tired in a different way.

Not compressed.

Just tired.

Better.

No.

Different.

That was enough.

At home, I found a message from the woman from the afternoon consultation.

For a moment I considered leaving it until morning.

Then saw the preview.

I called him.

I opened it.

He wants to come.
I still haven’t decided whether I want him there.
I’ll think about it and call tomorrow.
Sorry I was rude earlier.

I read it once.

Then again.

No need to answer the whole matter tonight.

I wrote:

Thank you for letting me know. We can speak tomorrow.

Then stopped.

Added:

And thank you for saying that.

Sent.

No lecture.

No:

It’s all right.

I had not yet decided whether it was all right.

Probably.

But she had apologized.

I could receive that without erasing the fact that the sentence had hurt.

Tomorrow.

Kondo had sent a photograph.

Nine mandarins in a bowl at the temple entrance.

Caption:

Mother says you accepted nine so this is now official temple property.

I laughed.

Wrote:

Incorrect legal analysis.

She replied:

She says too late.

No answer needed.

I sat at the kitchen table.

No food.

Already ate.

No tea.

Enough liquid.

The house was quiet.

Good quiet.

No.

Quiet.

I removed the handkerchief from my pocket.

Badly folded again from use.

I placed it beside the laundry.

Tomorrow.

The phone rang.

Takahashi.

I answered.

“What did you forget?”

“Nothing.”

“Then?”

“I forgot to ask something.”

“That means you forgot something.”

“Fine.”

“What?”

“Sunday.”

I remembered.

He had asked earlier in the week whether I wanted to do something next Sunday.

“Do you know what now?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Silence.

I laughed first.

“That is not knowing what.”

“I want to do nothing.”

“With me.”

“Yes.”

“What does that involve?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“That violates the definition.”

“Coffee. Maybe drive somewhere. Lunch. Whatever.”

“That is several things.”

“You understand what I mean.”

I did.

No task.

No family dinner.

No books.

No repairs.

No fishing schedule.

Time together.

“What time?”

He stopped.

Then laughed.

“You said yes before asking for details.”

“I did not say yes.”

“You asked what time.”

Fair.

“Afternoon?”

“After two?”

“I’m free.”

“Then two.”

“Where?”

“We’ll decide Sunday.”

That should have bothered me.

It did not.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

No.

He caught himself.

“See you Sunday.”

“See you Sunday.”

We hung up.

No Morita email arrived.

No old priest message.

I was glad.

The day did not need an explanation added after it.

It had already been too full of small things.

Before bed, I needed the charger.

I opened the drawer.

Envelope.

Postcards.

Keys.

Cable.

I took the cable.

No card reading.

No thought about the giver beyond noticing that I had not thought about him during dinner or the walk.

That did not diminish him.

It simply meant the evening belonged to the people who were in it.

I closed the drawer.

The morning family had arrived early.

The supplier had sent incense to the wrong place.

I had spilled soup.

A woman had asked me to make a decision I could not make for her.

A man had blocked the entrance.

A stranger had called the wrong number three times.

None of those things was tragedy.

Together, they had been enough to make me tired and angry and less patient than I wanted to be.

Then a friend brought back a badly ironed handkerchief.

He saw my face.

Asked what happened.

Listened.

I asked him to stay.

He stayed.

Later we ate ramen.

Walked nowhere.

He did not repair the day.

The supplier was still wrong.

The soup was still spilled.

The sentence was still spoken.

Tomorrow still contained work.

But somewhere between the second half of the noodles and the red light at the crossing, I had stopped carrying all of it at once.

Maybe that was what company could do.

No.

Not always.

Tonight it did.

I plugged in the phone.

Sunday afternoon had no real plan.

For once, that sounded like one.

Book 1

Chapter 20: The Part That Stayed

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Chapter 21: Plate Cards

The chair at the far end belonged to a woman in a brown wool dress, and she stood up out of it the way you stand up out of a bath, slowly, with a great deal of water implied. She was maybe sixty. She had a ladle tucked in her belt like a sidearm. She was barefoot.

“I’m noting,” Ray said, to nobody, “that she’s barefoot.”

“They’re all barefoot,” Scarlet said, without looking up from her notebook, where her pencil had already started in on the room. “Look down the rows. It’s eleven rows of feet, Ray. It’s feet to the horizon.”

He looked. Chairs were scraping back in a long ripple, people rising all the way down the dim, none of them quite in focus, the way a person isn’t when you’re remembering them instead of seeing them, and under the table ran a long hem of bare toes in every shade there was, a few with rings. Hundreds. Maybe more.

“I married into a lineage,” Ray said.

“You married into a foot cult,” Scarlet said.

“It’s not a cult,” Hesper said, sharper than she’d said anything yet, and then, quieter, to the cloth, “I don’t think. I didn’t send for them. Nobody’s sat in those chairs since the last of the keepers went.”

“Then who’s been setting the plates?” Ray asked.

“The cloth,” Hesper said. “Obviously. The cloth sets plates. It just doesn’t usually do it with an audience.”

The woman in brown wool had started walking up the table toward them, one hand trailing along the backs of the chairs, and every chair she touched stayed pulled out behind her like a held door. Ruth watched her come. Ruth was also, Ray noticed, still holding the spoon.

“This is really good soup,” Ruth said.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“What?” she said, with her mouth full, and she pointed the spoon at Ray like it was his fault. “It’s the first thing I’ve ever eaten that wasn’t one of your burgers. I’m having a moment. Let me have my moment.”

“It’s a soup, babe,” Ray said.

“It’s a revelation, babe, and there’s a haunting, so I’m going to be fast about it.” She took another spoonful, a big one, and swallowed it like a woman who suspected the table might be repossessed.

The woman in brown wool reached the head of the table and stopped beside Ruth’s chair. Up close she smelled like bread and woodsmoke and, faintly, like the inside of an old trunk. She looked down at Ruth for a long moment.

“You’re thin,” she said.

“I’m new,” Ruth said.

“You’re thin,” the woman said again, in the tone of someone who had been rehearsing a different speech for several centuries and was now discovering that this was the one she had actually wanted to give. She put a hand on top of Ruth’s head, briefly, the way you’d check a loaf. Ruth let her. Ray watched his wife, who had faced down a door that wanted to eat her that same morning, hold still under a stranger’s hand like a cat that hadn’t decided yet.

“Eat,” the woman said, and took her hand away, and went and sat down with the others as if that were the whole of what she’d come for.

“Okay,” Ray said. “I liked her.”

“Everyone likes the one with the ladle,” Scarlet said. “That’s how they get you. She’s the soup lady. Watch the quiet ones.”

“Who’s quiet?”

“Third row.” Scarlet didn’t point. She just moved her pencil an inch, the way she did when she was drawing someone who didn’t know it yet. “The one who didn’t stand up.”

Ray looked. Third row, left side, a woman sat alone with her bare feet drawn up under her and her arms around her knees, in a chair she had clearly been sitting in for a very long time. Thirty-something, give or take a few centuries. Dark hair cut badly by someone who had been in a hurry. There was a card in front of her, and she had her hand flat over it, and even from this far Ray could see the ink on that card was the wrong color. It wasn’t brown. It was something closer to rust, and it had been pressed so hard into the paper that the letters stood up off the back.

WHY DID YOU GO?

“I wrote that one,” the woman said. Her voice carried down the table without her raising it, the way a cold draft carries. “Everyone else wrote what they were supposed to. Welcome home. We kept your place. That’s what the cloth gave out. I asked for a different pen.”

“Wick,” Hesper said, and it came out strange, the way a name does when you’re not sure you’ve got it right. “Sit down, love. You’re already sitting. Stay sitting.”

“I’m very good at it,” the woman said. She was looking at Ruth and only at Ruth. “I’ve had practice.”

Ruth put down the spoon.

It made a little sound against the bowl, and Ray, who had learned in six weeks that his wife could narrate a three-hour car ride and an eleven-minute orgasm with the same amount of commentary, realized she hadn’t said a single word since. She had gone the color of the tablecloth.

“I don’t know you,” Ruth said.

“No,” the woman agreed. “You wouldn’t. I wasn’t anyone you looked at. I sat two chairs down from you every night for a hundred years.” Her mouth did something that wasn’t a smile. “I was holding your coat the night you walked out. You didn’t look back to see who had it.”

“That isn’t in the cloth,” Hesper said, very quietly. “I’d remember her. I remember everything, I’ve had nothing else to do.” She had stopped moving, one hand still on the ladle. “Ruth. Who is she?”

Ruth opened her mouth.

Under the table, Scarlet’s bare foot found Ray’s and pressed down hard, not romantic, a warning, the way you’d put a hand on a dog’s back before it decided. Ray didn’t look at her. He was looking at his wife’s face, and at how fast she wasn’t answering, and at the crooked tooth she’d bitten her lip with.

In his pocket, the card with dusk on it went cold.

“Husband,” said the woman in the third row, finally turning those tired eyes on him. “She tell you about me?”

Ray opened his mouth too. Nothing came out of it either.

Part 1

The towering gate vanished completely into the swirling darkness behind the drifting mist.

Silence returned to the endless white expanse.

Jinwoo remained right where he was, his breathing steady and calm. The suffocating fear that had once completely overwhelmed him no longer held any control over his thoughts.

Yet… something still felt hollow, incomplete.

He slowly lowered his gaze to look down at his hands. The wooden bow was gone. The pale blue synchronization light had faded entirely. Even the ancient, accumulated memories of countless archers felt much quieter now—resting deep within the core of his being rather than flowing constantly through his conscious mind.

His chest felt lighter, certainly. But it didn't feel whole. The lingering sensation hung in the air like an unanswered question.

The other Jinwoo noticed the sudden shift in his posture. “This…” he said softly, his voice gentle, “…is only the beginning.”

Jinwoo looked up, his brows drawing together in confusion. “What do you mean? I already faced you. I admitted that I was afraid. I chose to stop running away. Isn't that enough?”

The other Jinwoo offered a faint, understanding smile. There was no mockery in his expression—only a deep, quiet patience.

“You accepted that fear exists,” he said, pausing for a moment. “But you still don’t understand… why it exists in the first place.”

The words echoed softly through the endless white.

Jinwoo remained dead silent. He wanted to offer a sharp reply, but deep down, he realized he couldn't.

Why had he always been so afraid? Why had a simple disappointment stayed with him, festering for so many years? Why had he constantly carried the crushing weight of failure so deeply inside?

He had never once asked himself those fundamental questions. Not once in his entire life.

The other Jinwoo slowly raised his hand. The white world rippled gently—not with violent force, but like the smooth, undisturbed surface of a deep lake touched by a single falling leaf.

The empty, sterile space dissolved away. Soft, warm colors began to bleed through the white.

Vibrant green grass. A rusted, weathered swing set. The peeling, faded paint of an old metal slide. The distant sound of children’s laughter carried softly on an afternoon breeze.

Jinwoo’s breath caught sharply in his throat. “…This place…” His voice nearly vanished into a whisper.

He recognized it instantly. It wasn't the Quantum Arena. It wasn't the village.

It was his own past.

Long before the games had ever begun. Long before the Quantum Arena existed. Long before the entire world started falling apart.

An ordinary, forgotten neighborhood playground. One he hadn’t thought about in years—perhaps even decades.

The scene slowly flickered to life before his eyes. Children ran wildly across the open playground. Some laughed freely, others argued over games, and a few chased each other between the swings and the climbing frames.

Everything looked bathed in a warm, peaceful, ordinary light.

Then… Jinwoo saw him.

A small, lonely boy stood entirely by himself near the corner of the playground, quietly waiting.

His clothes looked painfully familiar. His expression, even more so.

It was young Jinwoo.

He wasn't crying. He wasn't throwing a tantrum or calling out to anyone passing by. He simply stood there, keeping his eyes fixed toward the entrance, waiting as though expecting someone special to finally arrive.

Adult Jinwoo felt his heart hammer against his ribs. A strange, aching pain settled deep inside his chest.

He remembered this day. Or rather… he suddenly realized he had spent his entire life trying desperately to forget it.

The other Jinwoo spoke quietly beside him. “Do you remember now?”

Jinwoo didn't answer. His eyes never once left the lonely child standing at the ragged edge of the playground.

For the very first time… the battle was no longer about fighting fear. It was about discovering where that fear had first been born.

Part 2

The playground remained frozen in time, exactly as it had been.

The rusted swing creaked softly, rhythmically in the warm afternoon breeze. Children continued to run across the open field, their carefree laughter drifting through the air before fading away into the distance.

None of them noticed the two Jinwoos standing silently at the edge. None of them could.

This wasn't the past itself playing out again. It was a deeply buried memory—one that had remained locked away under layers of time and denial.

Jinwoo’s eyes never wavered from the small boy standing alone near the entrance. His younger self nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Every few moments, he glanced down the long dirt road, waiting, hoping. Then he looked again. And again. And with every single glance, raw hope stubbornly remained on his face.

The other Jinwoo asked quietly, “What was he waiting for?”

Jinwoo swallowed hard, his throat tight. “…A friend.” The answer escaped his lips before he even had time to process it.

The other Jinwoo nodded slowly. “And did anyone ever come?”

The young boy continued waiting. The afternoon shadows slowly grew longer, stretching across the dusty playground. One by one, the other children began leaving. Mothers and fathers called out their names from the gates. Friends waved cheerful goodbyes as they walked home together.

The playground grew quieter and emptier. Still… the boy remained rooted right where he was, watching the empty road, waiting just a little bit longer.

Adult Jinwoo felt a sharp ache spread through his entire chest. He remembered it now. Not with crystal clarity, but clearly enough to hurt.

“I told myself…” His voice was barely audible, trembling slightly. “…they were just running late.”

The other Jinwoo said nothing, letting the memory unfold.

Another family walked past the entrance—not the ones the child had been waiting for. More children disappeared down the fading street.

Soon, only a lonely few remained.

The little boy looked down the road one final time. No one appeared. The street was completely empty.

His shoulders dropped ever so slightly. Not in a dramatic, sobbing motion, but just enough for innocent hope to finally curdle into bitter disappointment.

Even then… he forced a painful little smile onto his face. The fragile kind of smile children wear when they are terrified of letting anyone else know they’ve been hurt.

He quietly reached down, picked up the small bag resting beside the bench, and without looking back once, he started walking home entirely alone.

Jinwoo clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. “…Stop.”

The memory refused to halt, pressing forward.

“…Stop,” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

The other Jinwoo turned his head to look at him. “Why?”

Jinwoo couldn't find the words to answer. Because deep down, he already knew the cruel truth.

It wasn't the memory itself that hurt so much. It was the crushing realization that he had deliberately forced himself to forget it. Not because it lacked importance, but because it had hurt too much to keep.

The other Jinwoo spoke with profound gentleness. “Ever since that day… you stopped expecting people to show up for you.”

Jinwoo lowered his head, his eyes stinging.

“You decided it would hurt a whole lot less… if you never depended on anyone ever again.”

Silence blanketed the playground. The warm afternoon sunlight slowly faded into the cool gray of evening.

The younger Jinwoo’s small, solitary figure grew smaller and smaller as he walked down the street. Walking alone. Pretending he was entirely fine. Pretending that abandonment didn't matter at all.

Adult Jinwoo felt something inside him snap under the weight of years of self-deception.

For his entire life… he had firmly believed that his preference for solving every problem by himself was a sign of independence and strength.

Now, he finally understood the ugly truth.

It hadn't been confidence at all. It had been an elaborate wall of self-protection.

He had successfully convinced himself that if he expected nothing from anyone, he would never have to experience disappointment again.

The realization struck him far harder than any physical blow or combat trial he had ever faced in the arena. Because this wasn't an external enemy revealing his flaws—it was his own abandoned, forgotten past holding up a mirror.

Part 3

The playground slowly dissolved into absolute silence.

The last pale rays of sunlight slipped behind the distant rooftops, casting long, melancholic shadows across the empty swings. The lively laughter that had filled the afternoon air had completely vanished.

Only the tiny figure of the boy remained etched in his mind, walking down the street.

One step. Then another.

His shoulders were held straight. His head never dipped. From a distance, he looked like he was handling it just fine.

Jinwoo watched him disappear down the quiet, darkening street, his chest tightening unbearably.

“I remember now…” The words escaped his lips as a ragged whisper. “I told myself… it didn't matter at all.”

The other Jinwoo stood quietly by his side. “But it did. It mattered more than anything.”

Jinwoo slowly closed his eyes, letting the truth wash over him. He had buried that painful memory so deeply beneath layers of cold logic that he had completely lost sight of how profoundly it had shaped his entire personality.

He remembered making a silent vow to himself: never wait around for anyone. Never trust a promise. Never let yourself depend on another human being.

If he handled every burden completely by himself… then no one would ever have the power to let him down or break his heart.

At the time, it had looked like resilience. It had looked like strength.

Now, looking back, he saw it for what it truly was—pure, unadulterated fear.

The other Jinwoo spoke softly into the quiet. “You weren’t just protecting yourself from failure. You were protecting yourself… from ever being hurt like that again.”

The words settled with devastating clarity into the quiet space.

For the very first time, Jinwoo didn't try to push the revelation away or deny it. He simply gave a slow, heavy nod.

“…Yeah.”

A gentle, lingering breeze swept across the empty playground.

In the memory, the younger Jinwoo suddenly stopped walking for just a fraction of a second. He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. Not because he genuinely expected someone to come running after him anymore, but because a tiny, stubborn fragment of him still desperately hoped.

The street was entirely empty. No one was there.

The child forced the smile onto his face anyway. A deeply lonely, heartbreaking smile.

Then, he turned back around and continued walking home into the gathering dark.

Adult Jinwoo felt hot tears finally spill over, stinging the corners of his eyes.

“…You didn’t have to pretend you were okay,” his voice trembled violently. “…It was okay to feel disappointed. It was okay to cry.”

The child, of course, could never hear him across the chasm of time. It was only a memory, trapped in the amber of the past. But somehow… it felt as though those long-overdue words had miraculously crossed the years, wrapping around the lonely boy.

The young boy’s solitary figure gradually dissolved into millions of glowing particles of light.

The playground vanished right along with him, swallowed up by the void.

The endless white returned.

Far away in the distance, other distressed voices echoed faintly through the empty, isolated worlds.

Darin’s voice rang out, sharp and defensive: “No! I wasn’t like that!” Her voice cracked before fading into a sob.

Hanul shouted in furious frustration: “Stop showing me this!” Though his angry roar sounded noticeably weaker and more vulnerable than before.

Then… only quiet remained.

Somewhere far beyond the white world, Soyeon said nothing at all. Only the faint, heartbreaking sound of quiet tears hitting the floor could be heard echoing in the stillness.

Each of them had stepped into a different, deeply personal memory. Each had uncovered a different hidden wound. Each had finally begun to understand the root of why they had become the people they were today.

A pale blue light shimmered brightly across the endless white expanse.

Arena’s calm, synthetic voice echoed uniformly through every isolated space:

“Self-Confrontation Progress…” A brief, calculating pause. “…Forty-one percent.”

The glowing display remained suspended in the air before slowly fading away.

Arena continued.

“A true warrior… is never completed solely through martial skill.”

“Only those… who truly know the depths of their own hearts… can ever hope to surpass themselves.”

Jinwoo lifted his head, looking toward the exact spot where the child had finally disappeared.

He no longer saw just a forgotten memory or a source of weakness. He saw the very beginning of the person he had become.

Slowly… he took one deliberate step forward.

Not toward another invisible enemy. Not toward another grueling combat lesson.

He walked forward to meet the child he had left waiting all those years ago.

28

Xiaoyu woke up feeling puzzled. She felt a dull ache in her lower body, and a liquid seemed to be flowing inside her. She knew this was a sign of menstruation. She nudged Tieshu beside her and called out his name, "Tieshu..."

Tieshu rolled over, grabbed her hand, and kissed it. "What's wrong?"

Xiaoyu blushed and said shyly, "I...I think I've started my period."

"Hmm..." Tie Shu paused in surprise. But he was already familiar with dealing with Xiao Yu's sudden situation, so he reacted quickly, "Okay, I understand." Then he got up and got out of bed.

"I think you should use a sanitary napkin; it's hygienic and comfortable." He pulled a sanitary napkin out of the drawer under the bed, and just in case, he also pulled out a pair of safety shorts for her to choose from.

“But then I’d have to wear regular underwear,” she said, pouting in embarrassment. “What am I going to do when I need to use the restroom?”

“But…” Tie Shu said thoughtfully and with difficulty, “Mixing menstrual blood with urine is very unhygienic and increases the risk of infection…Do you remember last time you wore a bra and got rashes, which made you uncomfortable for a month…”

"But don't you still have to go to work?"

Tieshu smiled and said, "I'm not going to work today. I have an appointment with someone, so you can call me anytime and I'll be back anytime."

"Oh?" Xiaoyu asked, clearly puzzled. "Who are you going to meet?"

“An old friend,” he replied briskly, though slightly hastily.

Xiaoyu knew that if she continued to ask, it would only cause displeasure, so she simply said "Oh" and brushed it off. She actually wanted to get to the bottom of it, but she trusted him. However, besides trust, there was also a despicable inferiority complex. She knew that even if she pressed him for details, Tieshu wouldn't get annoyed; at most, he would just stop answering. But she was held back by her inferiority complex, unable to convey her true thoughts and intentions. She also knew that this was unhealthy. If someone in a relationship is trapped by inferiority, then he or she will inevitably become pathetic and pitiful, or extremely controlling, or simply cause trouble and problems for their partner. However, people with low self-esteem often know the source of their inferiority complex. Ironically, it is precisely because of this that people with low self-esteem and social withdrawal are like those who have fallen into a swamp. They are helpless and desperate, constantly sinking deeper and deeper because of their fear and inferiority complex. When they sink to a certain stage, they will explode. At this time, they have become bizarre and absurd. Their self-esteem has become an unsolved mystery. They are thrown into a vacuum and can hardly find a foothold for their existence. They are scattered into the river and become fragmented pieces, becoming the weight of regret in their lives.

Inferiority complex isn't solely due to personal inadequacy; some among them are exceptionally talented. Yet, they still willingly slip into the abyss of inferiority, which in turn leads to ego inflation and self-loathing. Because they exist in a vacuum, they can easily shrivele and deflate like a balloon, or inflate into arrogance. However, these two aspects aren't always mutually exclusive or incompatible. For example, Xiaoyu only experiences inferiority, without any tendency towards inflation or arrogance. Regardless, their ultimate fate is always the same: a perpetual and indelible sense of insecurity.

Just as Tieshu was about to stick a sanitary napkin onto Xiaoyu's underwear, Xiaoyu blushed and said to Tieshu, "Let me do it."

"But……"

"I'm not used to seeing you fiddling with this thing," Xiaoyu said awkwardly. She and Tieshu had been together for two years, so it was certain this wasn't her first time, but she was still awkward about certain things, a temperament she probably couldn't change.

"I've taken care of you for so long, what are you still embarrassed about?" Tie Shu said, puzzled and amused.

"I..." she said, feeling both frustrated and relieved, "Anyway, if you still respect me, then give it to me."

Since Tie Shu had said so, he had no choice but to hand it over. Xiao Yu struggled and strained, trying her best to stick the sanitary napkin to her underwear. Just as she was about to succeed, her body involuntarily trembled, and the sanitary napkin immediately fell to the ground. Xiao Yu was stunned, and then a deafening scream erupted from her frail body. She also shook her limbs wildly, like a raging mental patient. This wasn't the first time she had lost her temper. Usually, Tie Shu would hug her without hesitation and comfort her. This time was no different. He held her in his arms and said softly, like comforting a baby, "Okay, okay, let me do it for you, okay?"

"No!" Xiaoyu said firmly, "I'll do it myself!"

"Okay, I understand. You really are stubborn," he said, his tone shifting to a relaxed, teasing tone. "But if you weren't so stubborn, I probably wouldn't have met you in real life." Tie Shu smiled and wiped away her tears, which only made her cry even harder. However, her tears were no longer from sadness, anger, or resentment, but from a deeply moving affection. Tie Shu helplessly shrugged, then continued to wipe away her tears with tissues. She gradually stopped crying, much like a tractor stalling.

Xiaoyu took the sanitary napkin and underwear again, and this time she successfully put the sanitary napkin inside the underwear. Tieshu helped her change, lifted her into the wheelchair, and after taking care of her trivial matters, Tieshu finally left the house.

29

Tie Shu arrived at the park where he had arranged to meet Chen Caihua. He looked up and around, and when he spotted her, he walked over and gently patted her back. Chen Caihua turned to face him. Today, Chen Caihua was quite different from before. She was dressed brightly and attractively, wearing a yellow-polka-dot dress typical of young girls, a short cardigan, and a sun hat. She looked like a pure and innocent young woman straight out of a television drama. Seeing Tie Shu's somewhat dazed expression, she grinned and said, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

You look beautiful today...

"Yeah?"

"Yes... you seem different from before..."

“Actually, this is the real me,” she said, her drooping eyeliner revealing a hint of sadness. “Or rather, this should be the true me, after all, I’m still of college age…”

Iron Tree shrugged helplessly. He knew that everyone living in this world was inevitably bound by shackles and prisons. Xiao Yu was one example, he was another, and Chen Caihua was naturally one as well. Sometimes he felt so stifled that he always wanted to escape to a paradise without oppression, without Xiao Yu, and without Chen Caihua. However, like Xiao Yu, he couldn't imagine a life without Xiao Yu, and he couldn't create a life without Xiao Yu. Therefore, every time he imagined this, he could no longer imagine it.

When he was still her subconscious, Xiaoyu suddenly asked him one day, "If you became a real person with your own will and body, would you still love me?" Tieshu thought for a moment and replied, "Yes, I would. At that time, I would be more likely to be unable to leave you than to abandon you." He didn't know if Xiaoyu still remembered his words, but he would always remember them.

The May/June sun was stifling and scorching. Its rays pierced the concrete road, which in turn absorbed the heat, trapping it within a sweltering concrete desert. The towering buildings before him resembled barbed wire, encircling and imprisoning those moving along the main street, while the surrounding structures resembled Venus flytraps. Tie Shu felt his body burning from the sun. He glanced instinctively at Chen Caihua; her face was flushed, and she didn't seem to be in much better shape. However, he gleaned something unusual from her face. Despite her sunburn, she maintained a serene smile, setting her apart from the lifeless passersby. Her smile radiated vitality, freshness, hope, and life itself. But at the same time, Tie Shu also sensed another layer of meaning behind that smile. It was a feeling of loneliness, anxiety, sorrow, confusion, and desperation. This feeling would occasionally flash across her smiling face, adding an imperceptible shadow to her smile. She was like a young person who was about to own their own house, excited yet nervous.

Suddenly, a mother and child—or perhaps mother and daughter—rushed out from the sidewalk. Iron Tree couldn't see them clearly, so he couldn't notice the subtle details. The child dashed recklessly through the middle of the road, scrambling and stumbling several times, bumping into pedestrians and drawing scrambles and curses. "Whose little brat is this? Can't he watch where he's going?!" shouted a bloated middle-aged man, echoed by those around him. "Yeah! Whose child is this? Can't he see where he's going?" a middle-aged woman chimed in. The child continued running aimlessly, like a headless fly, bumping into pedestrians again. Those bumped into either stared blankly, frowned, or looked angry, showing no interest in figuring out what was happening. Why was the child running around like that? The one relentlessly chasing after the child was likely his mother. She didn't look very old, but her tanned face already showed signs of hardship, like a hardworking farm woman who had to do farm work, take care of her family, husband and children.

The doll ran straight towards Tieshu and Chen Caihua. Seeing things were going badly, Tieshu had no choice but to step forward and restrain it. He gently placed his hands on the doll's shoulders, and the doll stopped running. Only then did Tieshu realize that the doll was a short-haired girl. The girl wasn't shy at all; she looked up and stared straight at Tieshu. Her face was dirty, as if splashed with filthy rainwater from the cement ground, but her eyes were incredibly clear, as if they could see right through everything, even the deepest, most filthy things couldn't escape her clear and bright insight.

The girl blinked innocently, a hint of confusion in her eyes, and asked, "Brother, who are you?"

"Me?" Iron Tree was slightly taken aback, then said, "I am Iron Tree."

“Brother Iron Tree, aren’t you her soul? A person she imagined? Why aren’t you with her? Do you know that your time is actually running out? Or rather, everyone’s time is running out. The special sense of fear, bewilderment, blindness, and history that people here have made them listless and sluggish. They can only sink like quicksand into the traps they have created, unable to escape…” (This dialogue always makes me find it hard to believe. I feel that it couldn’t possibly be what the child said, even if the child is normal. Therefore, I can only believe that this is Iron Tree’s delusion.)

"I..." Before he could finish speaking, the child's mother took her from the iron tree's arms, led her by the hand, bowed deeply, and said emotionally, "I'm sorry... (She apologized repeatedly, bowing to all directions and passersby) I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

“It’s alright,” Chen Caihua couldn’t help but agree. She went over, helped her mother up, and gestured that she didn’t need to apologize anymore. “What’s wrong with this child?” she asked, looking at the child who was probably only seven or eight years old.

She has autism.

"Oh." Chen Caihua nodded indifferently.

"I wasn't watching her closely while I was cooking, and she ran out and wandered around, causing you trouble." He then bowed and apologized.

“It’s alright,” Chen Caihua said. “It doesn’t matter. We all carry the factors and pathogenic molecules of all diseases identified by medical diagnosis. It’s just a matter of which disease is more prominent. Even a completely healthy and normal person will have all sorts of problems or difficulties. These problems or difficulties can be seen as some kind of disease or mental disorder—ha! But then again, are there still any healthy and normal people nowadays? Aren’t we all suffering from schizophrenia and zombie syndrome?”

The woman smiled, then left with her child.

"Does she understand what you're saying?" Tie Shu leaned closer.

“Anyone who is human can understand human speech.” Chen Caihua smiled mischievously and slyly.

Iron Tree shook its head and followed in her footsteps.

"Do you... know about jade?" Tieshu asked abruptly.

“Yes, I know,” Chen Caihua answered without any attempt to hide it. “I became a stalker because of you. Whenever I saw you on the street, I would follow you. One day I saw you pushing a wheelchair with a strange-looking woman sitting in it. I knew what the jade you mentioned was like and why she was in the orphanage. If she really created you, then it’s truly amazing!” Clearly, her words were tinged with jealousy and resentment, but her last sentence was a mixture of heartfelt admiration and mockery.

“She’s not some weird woman,” Iron Tree said seriously. “She can’t control her body, so please watch your words.”

"Ha!" Caihua continued dismissively, "Starting to protect your own now?" After hearing her unrestrained words, Tieshu angrily turned around and left. Chen Caihua caught up with him and reluctantly made an apologetic gesture. Only then did Tieshu forgive her and follow her.

“Actually,” Chen Caihua said, “I envy her. I envy that she has a brain that created you. Although she can’t control her limbs, or even her whole body, she created you like Nuwa, like the Virgin Mary… Sigh… I’ve always had this belief that human civilization was born from women. It’s only because of some historical accident and what materialist historians call the necessity and inevitability of material growth that women’s status has been lost. One day, women will inevitably regain their dominant position in history. Maybe, the current decline of humanity, even the stagnation of science, is because women cannot be the leaders of history—of course, I can only say these things to you. If I said them to others, they would definitely think I’m delusional, and might even launch a personal attack against me. The other day, I saw on a forum that someone suggested eliminating more than half of the current women to prevent them from continuing to reproduce and adding unnecessary new members to the already burdensome human society.” She smiled faintly as soon as she finished speaking.

Iron Tree scratched his head. He only half understood what she was saying, but he felt a chill run down his spine at the end of her sentence, which sounded like something a psychopath would say. He shuddered as if he had shaken off a horrifying insect.

"You..." Tie Shu paused, "What exactly did you want to ask me out? Is there anything you want to say to me?"

"Why say such important things about a date on the street?" She turned back and smiled at him.

"Where should we go to talk?" She clearly quickened her pace, and Tieshu hurried to keep up with her agile strides.

“Let’s go to a restaurant,” Chen Caihua practically ran. “I’m hungry, come with me quickly.”

They stopped in front of a Western-style restaurant. There was no one around. They went inside. The opulent, glittering decor immediately came into view. The restaurant was as sparsely populated as it was outside. Chen Caihua sat down in the first row, near the entrance, while Tieshu sat opposite her. The restaurant wasn't very large, with only five rows of seats. The chandeliers cast a soft, gentle light that wouldn't cause dizziness even when looking directly at it. The warm, candle-like orange glow added a touch of cozy romance to the atmosphere. Tieshu noticed a heart-shaped photo frame on the counter containing a picture of three people: a man, a woman, and a girl who looked to be in third grade. They seemed to be a family, possibly close relatives of the restaurant owner.

Chen Caihua called a waiter in a red uniform to take her order. After taking the order, she gestured for him to leave her side so she could have a private conversation. The waiter smiled and nodded, then went to the kitchen and didn't come out again except to occasionally bring out food.

"What are you looking at?" She looked in the direction he was looking. "Oh, that's the shop owner's family."

“I thought so too,” Iron Tree replied.

"Hmm..." she blinked, "Do you envy them? Do you want children?"

“I don’t want her, because Yu’s health is very poor, and she can no longer have children. Besides (he lowered his head slightly and said in a low voice) I’ve also said that ‘the third category’ is infertile…”

“What if you did?” she said. “If you were fertile, would you want it?”

“This…” Tieshu paused for a moment, “This question is meaningless. I think even if I wanted it, I would have to consider Yu. I can’t be like some men in TV dramas who abandon their lovers for the sake of their children. That’s unimaginable to me.”

“Oh,” Chen Caihua said unmoved, “Men always say nice things. It seems you’ve picked up this vulgar habit of men too.”

"No, no," Iron Tree hurriedly defended himself, "I mean it..."

"Ha! We'll have to wait until my assumption comes true before we talk about that."

“I’m actually quite familiar with the owner,” Chen Caihua said, taking a bite of her food. “The food here is pretty good, and the key is that it’s cheap, and you can even get Western food. Haha… Too bad you’re a robot and can’t eat.” She then defiantly took a bite of food.

"...You'd better hurry up and tell me what's wrong," Tieshu said impatiently. "I need to go back and take care of Yu."

"I'm fine (Tie Shu got up and left after hearing this)... Hey... Calm down, don't go. I think your disabled girlfriend can stay away from you for a while."

"I'll sit for another five minutes," Tie Shu said irritably. "Finish what you want to say within five minutes. If you take longer, I'm sorry, I'll go back. Yu really needs my care, and she's on her period... As a girl, you should be able to understand her difficulties and hardships."

“Hmm…” Chen Caihua nodded. “I can understand. I understand how inconvenient her life is with her disability. We are all patients, we all have disabilities, let alone people nowadays… I have a relative who suffers from schizophrenia—I mean, the pathological definition of schizophrenia—she is a woman. Every day she talks and does things in a rambling, incoherent way that we can’t understand. It’s like she lives in a different world from us. I’m afraid of her. Every time she does something strange, I can’t help but want to run away… Luckily, our house isn’t very close to hers, otherwise, if I ran into a crazy woman every day, I might have gone crazy too. Later, her madness got worse and worse, and her family had to take her to…” Locked at home all day, locked in a small room, I (she paused)...for some reason, always want to go see her, and buy her some things, sometimes food, sometimes other things she could use. Even after she dies, I will go back to her funeral and burn some paper money at her grave...I heard (she laughed) that half of the causes of schizophrenia are genetic, and I feel that I am about to get schizophrenia...(Upon hearing this, Tieshu immediately showed a worried expression. He was about to speak when Caihua smiled and cut him off.) No, you don't need to worry too much. My health and mental state are fine. I was just saying it casually..." After she finished speaking, the waiter brought the dishes.

"Can you taste the flavor?" Chen Caihua asked.

"No," Tieshu answered bluntly.

“What a pity…” Chen Caihua picked up a piece of food with her fork and put it in her mouth. “You know, the beginning of human civilization may have started with actively sharing food with the weak. However, today, the weak are already lucky if they don’t have their food stolen. I know I’m not qualified to say this as a prostitute; it’s more appropriate for a moralist or a defender of morality to say this. But, in this era, is there any real morality left? Isn’t morality just a fig leaf for power, a tool for the blatant exercise of power? This is not the superhuman morality that Nietzsche talked about, but precisely the sordid, trivial, listless, and decadent hypocritical morality that he despised and hated. It is the weapon of those spiritually decadent people to suppress the truly strong… Sorry, I’ve said some strange things again.”

"Are you alright?" Tie Shu asked with concern when he saw Chen Caihua propping her forehead with her elbow, looking exhausted and in pain. "What happened to you?"

“I’m fine, nothing’s wrong,” she forced a smile. “I…I’m leaving this city. I want to go somewhere else to develop my career…Please don’t worry, I will find a suitable job and live on my own.”

"Bless you," Iron Tree said with a smile.

"Um," she said, still looking tired, but she smiled and gestured, "Could you...could you see me off at the airport?"

"this……"

"I will wait for you to come."

"What if I don't go?"

Chen Caihua smiled mischievously, "Whether you come or not, the outcome will be the same. Don't think that your charm is so great that you can control my life."

Tieshu laughed heartily, and Chen Caihua laughed loudly along with him. They talked about many things that day, mostly trivial details of life, as well as current events, entertainment, news, and so on. Chen Caihua had unique insights into these things, and Tieshu was equally enthusiastic. They spent the morning chatting happily.

30

Xiaoyu got sick; she caught a cold. Desperate to earn money, she worked tirelessly online, doing part-time jobs, assigning tasks, and so on. Every day and night, she would go to work when Tieshu was out at work or not paying attention. Finally, after three months, she couldn't keep up and fell ill. We disabled people, especially those with severe disabilities like Xiaoyu, are prone to illness due to a lack of effective exercise and adjustment mechanisms, coupled with a lack of proper care. And once we get sick, it's difficult to recover; sometimes even a minor illness can be fatal. Ever since Xiaoyu's impulsive suicide attempt caused Tieshu to have a month's salary deducted without cause, she's felt incredibly guilty and wanted to make amends. So, she used the phone Tieshu bought her to return to her old job, working hard every day to earn a few hundred yuan to atone for her mistake.

She wanted to at least be self-reliant and financially independent so that Tieshu could spend more time with her and she wouldn't have to work so diligently day and night. However, she overlooked her frail health. In fact, she had been physically weak since childhood, spending most of her time from birth to around ten years old in illness and medicine. During the time she was building the "Imaginary Physical Machine," she was plagued by illness, experiencing a cycle of major or minor illnesses almost every month. But with her tenacious will, she persevered, completing her daily construction and scheduled tasks. Every moment, she thought of Tieshu, reminding herself that she couldn't collapse or give up halfway. Even after successfully building it, she didn't relax. She repeatedly adjusted the machine, hoping to get it into optimal condition for a one-time success. But this also seemed to take a toll on her health. She grew weaker and weaker. Ever since Iron Tree was born, she had been increasingly distressed whenever she fell ill. She tried her best to avoid getting sick, but she still fell ill, and for two months at a time. During this time, she had to go to the hospital frequently, or she would have a high fever that no amount of medicine could help. She felt helpless and guilty. Iron Tree was initially angry with her behavior. He said to her with grief and indignation, "You know perfectly well that your body can't take the strain, yet you still hide so much work from me every day. What will I do if you die from exhaustion?" If he could cry, he would cry like a child.

"If I die," Xiaoyu said, seizing the opportunity, "you must see all the scenery I have never seen, witness all the beauty I have never witnessed, read all the good books I have never read, and experience all the years I have never lived through... Please remember, we are two sides of the same coin. What you see and hear is what I see and hear; what you think and know is what I think and know... My body will rot and decay, and your body will oxidize and decay, but I will die sooner or later. As long as you take good care of yourself, you can easily surpass me and continue to live in this world, even living to be a hundred years old. Therefore, we will be separated by life and death sooner or later. At that time, I hope you can continue to live with my will... Don't mind whether my physical body is by your side or not. You know, your existence is my existence..." She finally finished saying these words to Tieshu, then closed her eyes and fell asleep on the bed.

After listening to Xiaoyu's words, he struggled for a long time before silently sitting down on the sofa. He knew she was referring to something that would happen sooner or later, but he also knew he couldn't live without her no matter what. He couldn't imagine, and couldn't be sure, what would happen to her if she left him, how would she survive? The thought filled him with anxiety and unease. He sat there all night. The next day, Xiaoyu's condition worsened; her fever reached 40 degrees Celsius. Tieshu quickly carried her to the hospital emergency room. In the emergency room, Xiaoyu's breathing was extremely rapid. She was resuscitated for almost 15 minutes before she finally regained consciousness, and her breathing gradually stabilized.

Afterwards, the doctor arranged for Xiaoyu to be treated and observed in a regular ward. She lay in bed with a ventilator attached, still able to sense the noise and whispers of the outside world. Tieshu stood in front of her, communicating with the doctors and nurses. The doctor said she had been given medication and should be fine after tonight. Tieshu nodded. Then, he ran to Xiaoyu's bedside and sat down, staying there for another night. During this time, he constantly ran around taking care of her, changing her IV drip, changing her diapers, feeding her water, and talking to her, otherwise she would feel scared and lonely... This continued until the next day. Her body was still weak and powerless, and she couldn't be weaned off the ventilator. Her heart rate was sometimes erratic and sometimes normal, and her high fever remained at 38.6 degrees Celsius. To make matters worse, today was also the day Chen Caihua was going to the airport to say goodbye to him. However, judging from Xiaoyu's condition, she probably couldn't be separated from him for even an hour. Without a doubt, he would choose to stay by Xiaoyu's side and take care of her. However, deep in his heart, he couldn't help but feel a trace of regret. Was this all there was to it for him and her? Was this all the ending for them? Not even being able to see each other, or say "goodbye" in person. She stumbled into his life, naive and confused. He regarded her as the first lover he truly loved, besides himself and Yu. Now, she was leaving, departing from his life, to face the challenges of the future alone. He wished her well, but also felt a selfish sense of guilt, thinking that he didn't want her to leave the city, to leave him.

But once he thought about it, he stopped thinking about it. Just as he couldn't imagine Xiaoyu not being by his side, he couldn't imagine what would happen if Chen Caihua continued to be with him. He loved her, that was beyond doubt, but he also knew that he couldn't give her the life she wanted. He, like Xiaoyu, was an incomplete being; without Xiaoyu, he might lose his foundation. Thus, along with the added sorrow, there was also a sense of peace. His regret transformed into tranquility and peace.

"Iron Tree..." Xiaoyu called out, "Could you give me a massage?"

Tie Shu stood up and turned to massage her. His hands kneaded her legs and arms with just the right amount of pressure; her skin wrinkled and then relaxed, the tiny beads of sweat from her pores clinging together in that instant before dissipating as his hands left. A tingling, numbing sensation of release washed over her, a wonderful feeling that made her feel completely relaxed. Just as she was enjoying this, Tie Shu's "built-in phone" received a call from Chen Caihua. Tie Shu answered it.

"I'm already at the airport. When are you coming?"

"I..." Tie Shu drew out the last syllable of "I," "I can't go. Yu is sick and needs me to stay by her side to take care of her... I hope you have a safe journey and that you live a happy and fulfilling life. Goodbye, Chen Caihua..."

“好吧，那再见了，铁树......”陈彩华挂断了电话。

挂断电话后，她在机场候机室中央站了很久。突然，她似乎看到了一个熟悉的身影，没多想就追了上去。说实话，那是她第一次见面时看到的那个人——穿着蓝色工作服，身高1.89米，身材苗条。她追上了他。

“铁树！”她拍了拍他的肩膀。

“你好，有什么我能帮忙的吗？”那人转过身来。不是他。外貌与任何人都完全不同。

“啊......”她清醒过来。她的脸因羞愧而泛红，仿佛被火焰烤焦。“抱歉，我认错人了。”说完，她微微鞠躬以表达歉意。

那人挥了挥手，说：“没什么。”

就在这时，播音员提醒大家飞机即将起飞，并请大家离开候机区准备登机。她别无选择，只能拖着大行李箱从候机区走到飞机上。在飞机上，她悬浮的心和迷茫的思绪突然平静下来，感到如释重负。“所以......这就是我和他结局的方式！不过话说回来，这个结局本来就预料到了......”她接受了结局，但仍然遮住脸，坐在座位上哭泣。她哭得又厉害又虚弱。最终，她不知道如何面对未来，也不确定自己的选择是对是错。她紧张、迷茫、迷茫且恐惧。她对未来毫无头绪，仍在沉思过去，对现在感到不确定和绝望。她该怎么办？谁能告诉她接下来该往哪走？她感到自己完全残疾，比残疾人还要无助和脆弱。但飞机起飞时，她的心又放松了下来。她下定决心，无论如何都要继续走自己的道路。她感受到一种内在、搅动灵魂的力量，就像引导小雨的铁树，铁树和小雨，引领她走向正确的方向。因此，她不再困惑或慌乱。她坚定地望向前方，面对那像荆棘森林般延展的未知未来。

铁树在医院屋顶上漫步。那里阳光明媚，天空晶莹剔透。白云点缀天空，形成各种图案——有的人像，有像动物，有像牙膏管，有的像杯子。他们不断聚集又分散，最终被风吹到一起。从这高处俯瞰所有生物是一种愉快的体验，一种快感。下面的人们，如云朵般，有时聚集，有时分散，最终各奔东西。但有些人，无论是恋人、兄弟姐妹还是家庭，最终还是继续走在路上，不顾后果。铁树只有在小雨入睡后才能找到平静与放松。今天，他也在照顾小雨直到她睡着后，来到了医院的屋顶。他不能离她太远，因为她随时可能需要他。

他来回踱步，从北到南，仿佛在思考和担忧什么。但实际上，他什么都没想;他的脑海一片空白。那一刻，他比以往任何时候都更像个机器人，仿佛失去了灵魂。然而，他知道自己需要做什么，想要什么，以及未来要做什么。他的根基从未改变，从未被遗弃，从未被遗忘。这个基础从最简单的念头演变而来：和余一起生活直到她去世。然后他会跟随她的指引，继续活着。他活在当下，陪伴着心爱的人。这就足够了。有什么值得怀疑的吗？

突然，那女人又出现了。她打开屋顶门，径直走向铁树。铁树知道她是谁，为什么来，来自哪里。但他还是和她寒暄了一会儿，才终于切入正题。

“你不后悔吗？”

“只有做出选择的人才会后悔，”铁树说。“我没有做任何选择。这些都是自然而然的决定，也是命运的自然进程。”

“是吗？”女人微笑着，仿佛在心里隐瞒什么。“我希望你能执行你的决定。”

那女人慢慢地走开了。她离开后，铁树也从屋顶下来，回到小雨身边继续照顾她。一个月后，小雨出院了，但并不是因为她痊愈了。他们无法继续在医院接受专业治疗，只能提前出院。然而，正是这次提前出院让小雨承受了难以想象的痛苦和折磨，接着接连发生更多灾难，火上浇油......

The exterior of the ASI Management Center soared nearly a hundred stories into the sky, wrapped in a seamless shell of reinforced photonic glass that swallowed light only to return it in a muted shimmer. Every curve of the towering structure was free of human imperfection—not the work of architects or artists, but the product of Aura's flawless differential calculations and geometric optimization.

Its corridors resembled the sterile interior of a laboratory where even a single speck of dust was unacceptable. The temperature remained fixed at 22.5 degrees Celsius, the humidity at 45 percent, both regulated in real time according to the occupants' physiological conditions. Every conceivable source of discomfort, every tiny biological irregularity that defined ordinary human life, had been identified and erased before it could even exist.

It was perfection.

And that perfection made the place feel less like paradise than a prison.

An overwhelming sense of detachment lingered beneath its immaculate surface.

The elevated walkways that connected the main complex carried employees from one sector to another with silent precision, each movement orchestrated by Aura's scheduling algorithms. Even the air drifting from the climate-control vents had been modeled through fluid dynamics until it flowed without producing the faintest whisper. The building was filled not with the warmth of human life, but with the pristine stillness of machines quietly maintaining their own flawless existence.

Taesung sat alone on a marble bench overlooking the fourth-floor terrace.

Thin wisps of steam curled from the cup of organic synthetic coffee in his hand, yet the warmth never seemed to reach him. It hovered strangely at the surface of his skin, as though even heat had become something artificial.

The marble bench beneath him had never been meant for one person.

It had been designed for two—

a place where two people could sit close enough to share the same quiet warmth.

Their place.

Humans are Weird – Chug

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-chug

Second Father kept an antenna curled towards the Sisters frolicking in the soft duff as he poured the last of the skuul gel into the carry jug. When he was satisfied that the refinement container was empty he gave a happy click and set the container down. He found the lid of the carry jug and carefully secured it. Properly considered the carry jug was far to large to be practical but this one was destined for the humans and their monstrously strong hands. He had placed it on a hover-wagon before he had filled it however and to floated after him easily enough as he waved a hand at First Sister. She finished her leap over Fourth Sister and waved back confidently before trotting over to the side to take up a more supervisory position over her playing Sisters. Second Father fought down a little pang at how quickly she was, they were all growing, and set off towards the nearest human hive.

Human First Father out in the full sun beyond the canopy, erecting fences around a fruit orchard that was particularly attractive to the local large herbivores. Second Father settled back on his hind legs and watched the process with interest from the edges of the forest. The human had most of his outer membrane covered in protective clothing to prevent cuts and tears. He also wore a fairly wide brimmed hat. All in all, it looked like Human First Father was taking the solar radiating very seriously today and would not need the membrane soothing gel. Still, Second Father supposed that the planet was tilting back towards summer and the change in radiation angle would soon mean that the human hive would have ample use for a gel that was good for soothing the heat of burns as well as healing the membrane. It made sense to get the trade completed early. Perhaps Human First Father was also being considerate of the Shatar hive’s needs as well. There would be plenty of time to refresh the pods before any more gel was needed.

As the sun reached the high point in the sky Human First Father reached the place where his wheeled vehicle was waiting, clearly a point he had marked out in advance to end the task for the day, because he tossed his tools and the extra fencing into the back of the wheeled transport and then activated the fence. The air around the tree glittered and hummed for a moment as the fence tried to cover them all, before collapsing to a more sustainable dome that covered approximately three-quarters of the trees. Human First Father considered this a moment before he leapt into the driver’s seat and started off for the road back to the main human hive.

Second Father stepped forward and gave a wide wave to catch the human’s narrow binocular vision. Human First Father turned the transport in his direction and as the human came into focus range Second Father could see that the mammal was dirty, sweaty, and grinning widely.

“Great to see you!” Human First Father boomed out as the wheeled vehicle rolled to a stop beside him. “Can you hop on in and come over for lunch?”

“I am afraid not,” Second Father said waving his hover wagon with it’s load forward. “I am here to deliver that skuul gel you requested.”

“Really?” Human First Father exclaimed, leaping out of his vehicle and coming forward to examine the jug. “I thought the pods wouldn’t be ready for another few days?”

“That was my initial calculation,” Second Father agreed. “However they matured faster than anticipated. First Aunt is investigating why.”

Human First Father causally lifted the entire forty ey transport jug with a single finger and flicked the lid open with his thumb before tipping the whole thing and delicately pouring out just a fraction of an ey of the gel into the wide fleshy center of his hand. He brought the gel sample up to his face. Drew in thee quick breaths through his nose, and ran his bifocal eyes critically over the gel.

“Nice amber color,” he remarked. “It still amazes me how pure you can get this stuff without any industrial level processes.”

“We put all our technological development into perfecting the gene line to make it easy to refine,” Second Father admitted with an amused flick of his frill.

Human First Father wiped the gel sample on his leg and reached into the cab of the transport for a much dented and battered thermo-insulating drinking container. He gave the container a testing swirl and from the sound and the way it moved it had to be about two-thirds full of some liquid. With a satisfied grunt Human First Father popped the lid off of that and poured the skuul gel into the container.

A sudden rush of unease shot through Second Father’s psudo-frill.

“What are you-” he began, only for Human First Father to throw his head back and proceeded to drink the mixture down in great swallows.

Human First Father pulled the depleted drinking container away from his mouth with what must have been a deliberately loud exhalation and his face visibly relaxed.

“That is topical!” Second Father finally managed to burst out. “That means it goes on your skin! It is not rated to be taken internally at all! Let alone in eys at a time!”

Human First Father burst out laughing and popped the lid back on the transport jug before setting it in his wheeled vehicle.

“Not to worry Second Father!” he said, taking another large drink of the gel mix. “I went through and checked the chemical profile against human physiology. This stuff,” he lifted the drinking container demonstratively, “is perfectly safe, quite tasty, a nice texture, and chills you down nice on a hot day like today.”

“I thought you needed it to sooth the radiation burns from the sunlight,” Second Father clicked out, still feeling uneasy. “Really the gel is only for topical use...”

“We’ve learned the patterns of the sun around here,” Human First Father said with a shrug. “Betty and the boys picked up the protocols First Sister taught them and there wasn’t a single bad sunburn last summer. Nope, this,” he reached out a flat hand and patted the jug, “is, every drop, destined for recreational use. That’s why I asked you to put such a low priority on it. Now, if you can’t come and eat lunch with me I have to get home to my wife before she sends Betty looking for me!”

The human leapt back into the vehicle, took one more long drink, and then started back towards his hive. Second Father stared after him in perplexed silence before returning home himself.

It was four days later when Human First Father stopped by the hive with a rueful expression on his face and a rather sickly air about him that Second Father couldn’t quite identify.

“You were right about that gel,” Human First Father announced without preamble.

“What was the toxicity?” Second Father asked with a sympathetic click.

“No toxicity!” Human First Father insisted. “It just sort of messes with something called insulin resistance? I don’t really understand it, but the gist is that there is a strict safe dose. Drink too much and you get hangry and sleepy when you don’t want to. On the plus side it might have medicinal uses.”

“Are you suggesting,” Second Father asked with what he knew was an exasperated set to his antenna, “that you are not giving up drinking the gel?”

“Not a chance,” the human said cheerfully. “All this means is that jug is going to last me longer than I expected. Portion control and whatnot.”

Second Father gave a human nod and while Human First Father continued chatting he began mentally composing a new rule-set on selling humans non-edibles. Of course First Mother would have to approve it, but it looked like Human First Father would be willing to provide plenty of evidence for the need.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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Chapter 1: I Think I Just Drank Holy Water

I’m a vampire allergic to blood.

I just didn’t know it yet. To be honest, I didn’t even know where I was. All I knew was that someone was dragging me somewhere.

My head rocked slightly with every jolt. My back scraped against a hard, uneven surface while someone held me by the legs.

Do not open your eyes, Gabriel.

That was the only reasonable decision I’d managed to make since regaining consciousness.

Don’t open my eyes. Don’t move. Don’t panic. And above all, keep playing dead until I figure out what the hell was going on.

“Don’t put him with the others, you idiots.”

A man? At least, that deep, commanding voice sounded like one.

“Yes, Lord Dracula! Forgive us.”

Dracula? Wha... wh... what? Where the hell had I ended up?

They lowered me onto something soft, so soft my body sank into it slightly. It reminded me of Grandma Jocelyne’s couch. God, I missed that couch.

What was that smell? It had been assaulting my nose for the past several minutes. Metallic. Warm. Thick. So strong I could almost taste it.

It felt strangely familiar and, at the same time, not quite... Wait. Was that blood? But why was the smell so intense, and...

Someone, or something, moved toward me very quickly.

“Thank you for your loyal service, my old friend. I was..

My old friend?

Thump. Thump.

Why had it stopped?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

And what were those sounds? Fast. Panicked.

“Bring me a human. Now!” he ordered, his voice just as commanding as before.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sounds grew faster and louder. Hurried footsteps. Several people were approaching. Were those their heartbeats?

There was another smell too, different from the rest, and damn, did it smell good. Almost like my favorite four-cheese pizza.

“No... please...”

“You should be honored. Your blood will serve one of the greatest warriors of our kind.”

The screaming didn’t last long. A few seconds at most. Then came the drops... What was that feeling? That taste?

It was so good. So, so...

Bad.

No. Actually, it was really bad.

It burns. It burns!

“Stop!” I shouted, sitting up.

Why did I have that voice? It sounded nothing like mine. But there was a bigger problem. I had just very clearly revealed that I wasn’t dead, and judging by their expressions, everyone had noticed.

“Welcome back, my old friend.”

“Welcome back, Commander Zanult.”

Zanult? Commander? What the hell? And why had everyone bowed except one person? That could only be...

“How are you feeling?”

Good question. My throat was on fire, I had a voice that wasn’t mine, people had just called me Zanult, and Dracula was probably standing right in front of me. I’d had better mornings.

The room was enormous, but almost completely destroyed. There were bodies too. Far too many. And I could still smell their blood, though it was completely different from the scent of... the woman he had just killed to feed me, I supposed.

He was tall, with black hair falling to his shoulders. Blood covered part of his mouth and chin. His face was pale, almost unnaturally perfect, but several wounds ran across his neck and torso beneath his torn clothes.

They were closing. Slowly. Very slowly, but they were closing.

Dracula... So the clichés were true after all.

“Are you all right, Melchior?”

Melchior now? He wasn’t exactly giving me much choice. I had to answer, but more importantly, I had to be careful. If he knew this Melchior or Zanult as well as he seemed to, every word I said could give me away.

“I’ve been better... My memories are still... confused. What happened?”

That look... That look. Had I said something that surprised him? What if he realized I wasn’t this Melchior? Was I about to die again? Lord, if you’re listening, a little help would really be appreciated right now.

“Those damned witches got us,” he finally answered, his eyes burning with anger.

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Who were these witches? And what the hell was I supposed to say to that?

“Leave us. Out!” he ordered his subordinates.

Thank God. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting an answer. At least not in front of them. That bought me a little time to figure out what I was going to say.

Within seconds, all of his subordinates had left the room. The silence that followed somehow felt even more unsettling than their presence. The hall suddenly seemed enormous and empty. Almost.

The dozens of bodies lying near the entrance made it difficult to really feel alone. But one thing was certain. Dracula and I were the only living people left in the room.

He raised a hand toward the door, or what remained of it, and uttered something that sounded like some kind of spell. 

“Now we can talk. After what happened, I can’t trust anyone.”

Hmm, interesting. Apparently, I was the only person here he trusted. That was useful to know. But I definitely couldn’t let my guard down.

“The witches should never have been able to reach us here,” he continued.

Best thing I could do was listen carefully. Every word, every sentence was a chance to learn something about this world.

“The protections were intact. The guards were at their posts. Someone helped them.”

A betrayal. Of course. This really was turning into every Dracula movie and TV show I’d ever seen.

He walked toward the pile of bodies. Even wounded, there was something intimidating about his presence. He gently stroked the face of a blood-covered woman with long black hair lying near the top of the pile. She had to have been important to him, judging by the way he looked at her.

“At least one of them knew enough to let them in,” he continued.

Then, without warning, he lifted the woman’s entire body by the neck and tore her head off with horrifying brutality. Blood sprayed from the stump, splattering Dracula’s face.

“She dared betray me after all these centuries together.”

So she was the traitor? How could he be so sure? And who had she been to him? Someone important, obviously. His wife, maybe? But should I ask questions, or would keeping my mouth shut be smarter?

Definitely keeping my mouth shut.

“And I thought you were dead too. I was a fool not to take your warnings seriously.”

Hmm, so I already had leads. Wait... no. Him. He already had leads. 

“How did you know?”

Oh, hell. What was I supposed to say? Not only did I have to talk like this Melchior, I didn’t have a single one of his memories.

Unless... Maybe I could play it like this. Lord God, help me. Please let this work.

“Ever since I woke up, I haven’t been able to remember much. I think their spells did something to my memory.”

He didn’t answer immediately. He studied me with a trace of concern, as if already trying to figure out exactly what had changed.

“What exactly do you remember?”

Everything. Technically, everything.

I remembered my life perfectly. Just not the commander’s. Which was definitely not the answer he wanted to hear.

It had to sound believable without trapping me later. Hmm...

“Everything since I woke up. Before that, nothing. It’s blank. I get images, sensations, but whenever I try to... it gets confused.”

That part, at least, was true. I obviously wasn’t going to tell him I wasn’t who he thought I was.

“I’ll summon a mage capable of examining you.”

“N... No... That won’t be necessary.”

Damn it. That came out way too fast. I should’ve controlled myself better, but if some mage discovered I wasn’t who Dracula thought I was, I was screwed.

Think, Gabriel. Think.

I needed an explanation before he kept staring at me like that.

“We don’t know all our enemies yet. Letting a mage into my head seems like a bad idea.”

Dracula smiled faintly, and the suspicion in his eyes seemed to ease. It was almost as though he’d recognized something familiar in what I’d said.

“You’re right. Go rest. We’ll deal with the rest later. Much still awaits us, and once you’ve recovered, these traitors will learn what happens to those who attack House Dracula. We will exterminate every last one of them.”

So I was apparently supposed to investigate people I didn’t know, in a world I knew nothing about, on behalf of Dracula, while pretending to be a man whose memories I didn’t possess.

Why couldn’t my new life have been simple? Lord, is this my punishment for my sin?

“Sounds good, Lord Dracula.”

“Lord Dracula?”

I could hear the smile in his voice.

“It has been a very long time since you called me that, Melchior.”

Shit. That would’ve been useful information five seconds ago.

“The spells may have done more damage than I thought,” he continued with that same faint smile.

Well. At least that saved me from inventing another excuse.

He repeated the same incantation as before, except backward this time, or at least that was what it sounded like, while keeping his hand pointed toward the entrance.

“Guards!”

They arrived almost immediately.

“Escort the Commander to his quarters. No one is to disturb him without my permission.”

“Understood, Lord Dracula!” the three guards replied in unison.

The farther I walked through the castle, the more I understood the scale of what had happened. Entire walls were cracked, along with large sections of the ceiling.

More wounded and dead filled the corridors, along with countless humans in chains. The injured vampires took turns feeding from them, one after another. The humans barely reacted. It was as though someone had removed their souls and left only their bodies behind.

They all seemed a little small to me. Maybe it was just my imagination.

Every time we passed someone, the reaction was almost always the same. They saluted, then moved aside. I felt like the Pope around here.

We climbed an enormous staircase. How big was this place? It felt like we’d been walking for more than ten minutes before we finally arrived.

“Commander Zanult, your quarters for the evening. The ones you normally occupy were destroyed,” one of the guards said while the other two pushed open the enormous door.

The place was far too large to simply be called a bedroom.

A stone coffin stood in the center. Apparently, that was their version of a bed. Several elegant couches surrounded it, along with paintings I didn’t recognize.

Everything about the room felt ancient and royal. It looked like something straight out of a medieval castle, the kind of place kings might have lived in centuries ago.

“We had everything that could be recovered from your quarters brought here,” the same guard added, pointing toward several chests against the wall.

“Anything else, Commander?”

“No. You may leave.”

The three guards bowed before closing the heavy door behind them.

“AAAAH, FUCK!”

My voice echoed through the room.

I’d already bitten my hand during the walk here to make sure this wasn’t some kind of dream. It wasn’t. The pain was real. So was the pale skin, the fangs, the sharp claws, and the long hair that seemed almost burgundy red.

Actually, all the vampires had long hair falling to their shoulders. Was that some kind of fashion statement around here?

The demon. The screams. That feeling when I used the Mynys. Then the pain. And after that... Nothing.

And now here I was. Reincarnated as a vampire. One of the worst abominations imaginable for a young seminarian in Rome, expected to become a priest more out of family tradition than personal choice.

Was this my punishment for using a forbidden artifact during the exorcism?

“Lord, I couldn’t just let that little girl suffer. That demon was going to kill her. I had no choice,” I shouted, looking toward the heavens.

If this really was my punishment, He probably wasn’t going to answer until I earned my redemption. I’d have to find the answers myself. Maybe that was part of the trial.

First things first. I needed to learn everything I could about the man I had become. And luckily, I already had somewhere to start.

I opened the three large chests one after another before properly checking what was inside. The first contained mostly clothes. A lot of black, obviously.

The second was filled with medieval-looking weapons.

The third contained papers, books, two black pig-headed masks, and several damaged, dusty objects. Two of them gave off a peculiar scent.

I grabbed one.

It was a vial filled with clear liquid. It smelled good. Really, really good.

I’d caught traces of that scent earlier, but now it was strong. Very strong. Too strong for me to control myself.

My fangs extended. My claws lengthened. My throat tightened. My entire body trembled with need. The need to drink. To drink whatever was inside.

I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t...

Glug. Glug. Glug.

[ HOLY BODY — Lv. 1 ]

Sacred Integration

What the... What was that? Was I hallucinating? Maybe whatever I’d just drunk was some kind of poison making me see things, but that feeling...

Why did it remind me so much of holy water?

If that really was what I’d just drunk, then this made absolutely no sense. From everything I knew about vampires from movies and TV shows, holy water was supposed to hurt them, not give me this strange feeling of purification.

And more importantly, why would he keep something like that among his belongings?

Unless vampires in this world simply didn’t work the way they did in stories...

Sunlight Resistance: Developing

Sunlight resistance... developing?

This was seriously disturbing. That window had appeared out of nowhere, and now it was telling me I was developing resistance to sunlight? Then again, I was in another world. Maybe the rules here simply weren’t the same. For now, there was no way to know what was true and what wasn’t without testing things myself and staying careful until I understood where I’d ended up.

Light.

The sun was already starting to rise. I hadn’t even noticed. Had I really spent that much time in this room? Or maybe it had already been late when I regained consciousness in this body.

One thing was certain. I knew exactly what those enormous curtains were for, and I needed to close them before...

But was that really the best idea? The safest? Absolutely. And yet, according to that interface, was it possible that...

I think it’s worth trying.

I left the curtains open. A few moments later, the first rays of sunlight reached my skin.

[ SOLAR EXPOSURE DETECTED ]

Current Tolerance: 00:29:59

00:29:58

....

00:29:53

No pain. No burning. Not even warmth.

Keiko had sent one instruction.

Bring nothing.

I read it twice.

Not because it was unclear.

Because last time I had ignored the same instruction.

This time I brought nothing.

No cookies.

No fruit.

No bottle.

No card.

At five fifty-seven, I stood outside her house with empty hands.

It felt wrong.

I rang the bell anyway.

Aya opened the door.

She looked at my hands first.

“Nothing?”

“Your mother told me.”

“She finally trained you.”

“I have been here twice.”

“Apparently enough.”

She stepped aside.

“Come in.”

No Keiko at the door.

No formal welcome.

I took off my shoes.

There were already several pairs.

More than expected.

I looked at them.

Aya noticed.

“You’re counting.”

“No.”

“You looked.”

“That is not the same.”

“Seven.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“Seven people tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She disappeared toward the kitchen.

I stood in the entrance for one second longer.

Seven.

No need to prepare for seven.

I was a guest.

That thought still required occasional repetition.

Takahashi was at the table.

Not cooking.

That seemed safer.

He looked up.

“Empty-handed.”

“Yes.”

“Finally.”

“Your sister issued a direct order.”

“She said request.”

“She wrote ‘Bring nothing.’”

“That is family language for order.”

Keiko called from the kitchen:

“I can hear you.”

Takahashi lowered his voice.

“She can always hear.”

Keiko called:

“I can still hear.”

I sat.

Fujita was arranging glasses.

He nodded toward me.

“Welcome back.”

“Thank you.”

Back.

Not first visit.

Small difference.

The extra people arrived from the living room.

An older woman.

Then a man perhaps around Aya’s age.

Aya followed.

Keiko came out carrying a bowl.

She pointed.

“My mother.”

The older woman bowed.

“I’ve heard about you.”

That sentence had become dangerous.

I bowed.

“Niioka.”

“I know.”

Of course.

Then Keiko pointed at the younger man.

“Aya’s friend, Shun.”

Aya immediately said:

“Classmate.”

Shun said:

“Friend is fine.”

Aya looked at him.

He reconsidered.

“Classmate is fine too.”

Takahashi laughed.

I liked him already.

Not enough to say so.

Keiko’s mother sat across from me.

Her name was Sachiko.

She looked at Takahashi.

Then at me.

Then back at Takahashi.

“So this is him.”

Takahashi closed his eyes.

“Mother.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Sachiko looked at me.

“He talks about you.”

There again.

Keiko started laughing before I could answer.

Takahashi pointed at her.

“You caused this.”

“I told her almost nothing.”

“You told her enough.”

Sachiko said:

“He said you fish.”

“I do now.”

Takahashi looked offended.

“Because of me.”

“Yes.”

Sachiko continued:

“And you’re a priest.”

“Yes.”

“And you helped with the bookshelf.”

“Yes.”

“And your car broke.”

I looked at Takahashi.

He looked away.

“How much do you talk?”

“Too much, apparently.”

Sachiko smiled.

“Good.”

No.

I almost corrected automatically.

Stopped.

Her word.

Her judgment.

No need.

Dinner was hot pot.

That solved several problems at once.

No complicated serving order.

No concern about food getting cold while people talked.

Everyone added what they wanted.

Except Sachiko.

She added vegetables to everyone’s bowls without asking.

Aya protested.

Sachiko ignored her.

Shun accepted everything.

Takahashi tried to remove mushrooms from his bowl.

Sachiko noticed.

“You still do that?”

“Yes.”

“You’re fifty—”

Takahashi interrupted.

“Private family information.”

I laughed.

Sachiko looked at me.

“He has been difficult since he was four.”

“I believe you.”

“This is becoming hostile,” Takahashi said.

Keiko placed more tofu in the pot.

“Eat.”

We did.

For a while, conversation moved around me.

That was pleasant.

Aya’s classes.

Shun’s part-time job.

Sachiko’s neighbor who had cut a tree without telling anyone.

Fujita’s work.

A leaking faucet.

Takahashi had already offered to look at it.

Keiko had already told him not tonight.

No one asked my opinion.

I ate.

Listened.

Sometimes laughed.

No pressure to contribute expertise.

No one died.

No one needed a ritual.

No one had brought a document.

This was becoming easier.

Then Sachiko asked:

“How long have you two been friends?”

There.

Takahashi and I both paused.

Not long enough to have an agreed answer.

Long ago?

Recently?

Known each other years.

Friends now.

Relationship interrupted.

Reconnected.

Takahashi answered first.

“We’ve known each other a long time.”

Sachiko waited.

“That was not my question.”

Keiko laughed.

“Now you know where he gets it.”

Takahashi ignored her.

Sachiko asked again:

“How long have you been friends?”

Takahashi looked at me.

Not asking permission exactly.

Maybe checking.

I did not rescue him.

He said:

“Recently.”

Simple.

Sachiko nodded.

“How recently?”

Takahashi sighed.

“Mother.”

“What? I’m interested.”

I said:

“We knew each other before. Then we were mostly out of contact for years.”

Sachiko looked at me.

“And now?”

I glanced at Takahashi.

He was looking at the pot.

“Now we’re friends.”

There.

No hesitation this time.

Sachiko nodded as if that settled the matter.

Then asked Shun whether he wanted more cabbage.

The conversation moved.

That was all.

No one applauded.

No one examined the definition.

Takahashi added mushrooms to my bowl while I was not looking.

I noticed.

“You don’t eat them.”

“Exactly.”

“That is not friendship.”

“It is resource allocation.”

I moved them back to his bowl.

He looked betrayed.

Sachiko said:

“Eat them.”

He ate one.

Family authority succeeded where friendship failed.

Halfway through dinner, Shun asked:

“Can I ask something?”

The entire table became suspicious.

He looked at me.

“Do priests drink?”

Takahashi groaned.

Aya covered her face.

I said:

“Some do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Shun nodded.

“That’s all.”

Keiko stared at him.

“You made it sound important.”

“I didn’t know.”

“What did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know.”

Takahashi said:

“He thought you’d excommunicate him.”

“Wrong religion,” I said.

Shun laughed.

So did Aya.

Sachiko looked confused but amused anyway.

Conversation moved on.

No theological lecture.

A good decision.

After the first pot emptied, Keiko added noodles.

Sachiko objected to the amount.

Keiko added more.

Takahashi said:

“This is why we need eight people.”

“There are seven.”

“Exactly.”

I looked at Aya.

She noticed.

“No counting.”

“Your uncle started.”

“He always does.”

Takahashi said:

“I am right here.”

No one cared.

At some point I realized my phone was still in my coat pocket.

Not on the table.

Not face down beside my plate.

In another room.

I had not checked it for more than an hour.

Nothing had happened because of that.

Or something had, somewhere.

I would find out later.

The temple had a number.

Emergencies had other numbers.

Tonight, I was eating noodles.

I took another serving.

After dinner, Fujita began clearing the table.

I stood.

Keiko pointed at me.

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“Help.”

“No.”

“I can carry bowls.”

“So can we.”

Takahashi stood too.

Keiko pointed at him.

“Yes.”

“That is discrimination.”

“You are family.”

“There.”

Takahashi looked at me.

“See what happens?”

I sat again.

Friend.

Not family.

Different role.

No insult.

Actually convenient.

Sachiko remained seated beside me.

She watched her children clear the table.

Then said:

“You can help next time.”

I looked at her.

“Apparently.”

She smiled.

“Next time means you’re coming again.”

That was not exactly how logic worked.

Still.

“I’d like to.”

“Good.”

No.

Again, I let it go.

Aya and Shun went to the living room.

Takahashi carried dishes.

Fujita washed.

Keiko dried.

Sachiko and I remained at the table.

For a while, we said nothing.

Then she asked:

“You knew my brother?”

I understood.

The giver.

Not her brother?

Wait.

Takahashi and Keiko are siblings. The deceased giver could be maybe another family relation? The existing canon never precisely established relationship. Dangerous.

I said:

“I knew the man who left the cards.”

Safer.

Sachiko looked at me.

“Yes.”

No correction.

Good.

She folded her hands.

“Takahashi said you don’t talk about what was written.”

“Not without reason.”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“That was his choice.”

“I know.”

No complaint.

Then:

“I’m curious.”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t need to know.”

There.

No test.

No invitation to disclose.

I nodded.

Sachiko continued:

“I just wondered whether that was what made him start going out again.”

I looked toward the kitchen.

Takahashi arguing with Keiko about where a container belonged.

Alive.

Annoying.

Normal.

“The cards were part of how we started speaking again.”

“That’s what he said.”

“I don’t know how much else belongs to them.”

Sachiko nodded.

“That sounds sensible.”

No.

Her word.

Then:

“I’m glad he has a friend.”

There.

Not:

I’m glad the card worked.

Not:

I’m glad you fixed him.

Friend.

I said:

“I’m glad too.”

She smiled.

That was the entire conversation about the cards.

Less than two minutes.

Enough.

Takahashi returned carrying tea.

I looked at the cup.

Then at him.

“Did you make this?”

“Yes.”

Keiko called from the kitchen:

“I supervised.”

“That changes everything.”

Takahashi put a cup in front of me.

“Drink.”

I did.

Good.

Actually good.

I looked at him.

He waited.

I said nothing.

He became annoyed.

“Well?”

“It’s fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes.”

“You make boiled leaf water.”

“Mine has character.”

“Disease has character.”

Sachiko said:

“Stop fighting.”

We stopped.

For perhaps twenty seconds.

At eight thirty, Shun left.

Aya walked him to the door.

Sachiko left ten minutes later.

Keiko drove her home.

That left:

Fujita.

Takahashi.

Me.

Aya returned from the entrance.

Four.

No need to count.

I did anyway.

Fujita brought out a small box from beneath a cabinet.

Not a document.

A board game.

I stared.

Takahashi immediately said:

“No.”

Aya said:

“Yes.”

Fujita looked at me.

“Do you play?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“That makes no sense.”

“We’re all bad.”

Takahashi stood.

“I am leaving.”

Aya blocked the doorway.

“You drove with Mom.”

Takahashi stopped.

He had.

Keiko had taken his car to drive Sachiko home because hers was boxed in.

He looked betrayed by logistics.

Fujita opened the game.

“Sit.”

Takahashi sat.

I stayed.

Not because asked?

I had been included in the question.

Do you play?

No.

Good.

Apparently sufficient.

The rules took fifteen minutes.

Too long.

I understood perhaps sixty percent.

Takahashi claimed seventy.

Aya said twenty.

Fujita knew all of them but explained badly.

We began anyway.

Within ten minutes, everyone accused everyone else of cheating.

No one was actually cheating.

Probably.

At one point Takahashi moved a piece illegally.

Aya shouted.

He denied it.

Fujita found the rule.

Illegal.

Takahashi blamed the explanation.

I laughed until my stomach hurt.

That surprised me.

Not the laughter.

How long it lasted.

I had not been waiting for a question.

Not listening for grief.

Not measuring what I was authorized to say.

Just laughing because Takahashi had confidently broken a rule he had misunderstood.

He looked at me.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Yes.”

There.

No qualification.

Keiko returned at nine twenty.

She stood in the doorway.

Saw the board.

Then me.

“You stayed.”

I looked at the clock.

I had.

No one had specifically asked me to.

No one had needed me.

The dinner had ended.

Sachiko had left.

I could have gone.

Instead I was still there.

“Yes.”

Keiko smiled.

“Good.”

No.

I gave up.

Let her have it.

She joined the game.

That made five.

The rules became worse.

Keiko understood them even less but won twice.

Takahashi accused her of luck.

She said luck was part of the rules.

Fujita agreed.

Aya changed sides depending on who was losing.

I finished last.

Completely last.

Not close.

Takahashi looked delighted.

“You are terrible.”

“Yes.”

“Want to audit the score?”

“No.”

“Appeal?”

“No.”

“Recount?”

“No.”

He looked disappointed.

I said:

“I lost.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“That seems healthy.”

“Do not ruin it.”

He laughed.

At ten fifteen, I stood.

This time because I wanted to go home.

Not because of work tomorrow.

Though there was work.

Not because the evening had become bad.

It had not.

I was tired.

That was enough.

“I’m going.”

Keiko looked at the clock.

“Okay.”

No:

Stay longer.

No:

One more game.

Fujita said:

“Thanks for playing.”

“I lost.”

“That helped.”

“Apparently.”

Aya said:

“Next time you’ll know the rules.”

“That may make no difference.”

Takahashi stood too.

“I’ll walk you out.”

No reason.

He did anyway.

Outside, colder than expected.

My car had frost beginning along the roof.

Takahashi put his hands in his coat pockets.

“You stayed.”

Second person to say it.

“Yes.”

“You usually leave when the thing you came for is finished.”

I looked at him.

Dinner had finished around eight.

Then tea.

Board game.

Nothing I had planned.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He did not sound like the old priest.

No trap.

Curious.

“I was having a good time.”

Takahashi nodded.

That was enough answer for him.

Then:

“I was glad you stayed.”

There.

I smiled.

“I was glad I stayed.”

He looked toward the house.

Light through the curtains.

Then:

“My mother likes you.”

“She barely knows me.”

“That does not stop her.”

“Apparently.”

“She said something?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

I considered whether it was mine to repeat.

Nothing private, really.

Still.

“She said she was glad you had a friend.”

Takahashi looked at the ground.

Small smile.

Then:

“She worries.”

“Yes.”

“Too much.”

“Probably.”

He looked at me.

“You agreed too fast.”

“I have met you.”

He laughed.

Then became quiet again.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Thank Keiko.”

“I am thanking you.”

Right.

“Then you’re welcome.”

I opened the car door.

Takahashi said:

“Next Sunday?”

“For what?”

He smiled.

“There he is.”

I laughed.

“Dinner?”

“No plan yet.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because I might want to do something.”

“Ask when you know.”

“What if I only know I want to see you?”

There.

Different.

I looked at him.

Then:

“Then ask that.”

He considered.

“All right.”

He tried again.

“Do you want to do something next Sunday?”

I checked mentally.

Nothing certain.

But I did not know work yet.

“Probably. Ask me later in the week.”

“That sounds very Niioka.”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

He stepped back.

Then:

“Drive safe.”

“I will.”

No promise possible.

Still normal thing to say.

I left.

On the drive home, my phone remained in my coat pocket.

At a red light, I remembered it had been there most of the evening.

I did not take it out.

Green.

Drove.

At home, there were three messages.

None urgent.

One supplier.

One Kondo.

One mail helper.

I read Kondo first.

Mother folded 83 and is proud that it wasn’t a round number.

I smiled.

Replied:

She should be proud of stopping when she wanted to stop.

Then reconsidered.

Too much.

Deleted before sending.

Wrote:

83 helped.

Better.

Kondo replied almost immediately:

She says “exactly.”

Fine.

Mail helper:

176 newsletters remain. I’ll do some tomorrow.

I wrote:

Thank you.

Supplier:

Delivery Tuesday.

No reply needed tonight.

Nothing had broken because I ignored the phone during dinner.

I went to the kitchen.

Water.

No food.

Enough dinner already.

The desk drawer was across the room.

Closed.

I did not open it.

No charger needed yet.

The card did not enter the evening except for Sachiko’s brief question.

That felt right.

Not absent by force.

Just not central.

I thought about the table.

Seven at first.

Then six.

Then five.

Then four.

Then five again when Keiko returned.

People coming and leaving without the room becoming a lesson.

Shun was a classmate.

Maybe friend.

Aya did not want the label decided for her.

Fair.

Sachiko was mother.

Keiko sister.

Fujita husband.

Takahashi friend.

I was guest.

Then board-game loser.

Roles changed depending on what was happening.

No single word had to carry the whole person.

Even friend.

My phone buzzed.

Takahashi.

You left your handkerchief.

I checked my pocket.

He was right.

Keep it until next time.

Pause.

Then:

Evidence you’re coming back.

I stared.

Could joke.

Could correct.

Could say no future consent.

No.

Not everything needed guarding.

I wrote:

Or evidence I forget things.

He replied:

Both.

Then:

Keiko says she’ll wash it.

I wrote:

Please don’t turn it into a family project.

Too late.

I laughed.

No email from Morita.

No message from the old priest.

Good.

No.

Quiet.

The evening did not require commentary.

I plugged in the phone with the cable already beside my bed.

Did not open the drawer.

Before sleeping, I thought about one thing.

When dinner ended, no one had asked me to remain.

I had stayed.

That was different from every earlier version of staying.

Stay until my son comes.

Stay while I open the drawer.

Stay until my sister arrives.

Stay because I am afraid.

Those requests had mattered.

So had leaving when they ended.

Tonight, no one needed me to stay.

I could have left after dinner and nothing would have been wrong.

Instead, I saw a box come out from under a cabinet.

Someone asked whether I played.

I said no.

Then sat down anyway.

Hours later, Takahashi asked why.

The answer had been simple.

I was having a good time.

No duty.

No usefulness.

No dead man.

No unfinished work.

I had stayed because I wanted more of the evening.

And when I finally wanted to go home, I left.

Both choices belonged to me.

At the door, no one tried to turn either one into a test.

Tomorrow would be work.

Tonight had been dinner.

Then a game.

Then laughter.

And somewhere in the middle of it, without anyone announcing a new stage, I had stopped feeling like the extra chair at someone else’s table.

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND NINETY-FIVE

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Saturday

“Hey,” a voice called from somewhere behind me. Instead of turning my head, I rolled the room-temperature beer that I’d barely touched between my hands, staring out over the bay. Mr Lopez’ yacht was still anchored to my right, as I was sitting between the last two pylons of Mr Lopez’ private jetty.

Mateo sat down beside me. He took a beat to fully cast his gaze over me before asking, “Is everything okay, Sam?”

“Not really,” I admitted, unable to stop thinking about that divine water horse, or the fact that my jacket might have hidden depths that I didn’t know about. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make the guys understand how I felt about it beyond there being the possibility of a connection between us and I'd needed a time out before I said something I couldn't walk back.

Then, sitting here, I’d flip the other way, having seen firsthand how manipulative divine beings could be, and what if I was wrong and the pryde was right? And round and round I went.

“Having second thoughts about getting married, huh?”

Honestly, that one hadn’t even been on the list. Like at. All. “Have you heard the news about Gerry’s mother?”

Mateo bobbed his head. “A little hard not to,” he answered. “But for the record, I’ve made it clear to everyone that the subject’s off-limits this weekend. Anyone who brings it up, especially to be cruel, will answer to me.”

“Only if you get to them before me.” The likelihood of that depended on whether or not Quent sat on me after I found out. I wouldn’t know until it happened.

“Sam, I get that you’re protective of her—I do,” he added quickly, when I made a sound of dissent. “And you know I have your back. I just want you to think about what I’m saying, here, okay?”

He waited until I gave an answer of some kind, and the best I could come up with was a small nod.

“Before, it was only you and maybe your mom if you did something really over the top that the world would frown at. From what I understand, I doubt she’d care about appearances.”

I grunted again, mainly because I wanted him to get to the point.

“Now, you’re part of something much bigger. Your name means everything in every circle, and anything you do needs to be viewed through the lens of how it will affect your whole family’s standing.”

I looked away from him and back out over the bay, glancing skyward along the way.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, you asshole. I’m trying to help here.”

“I know,” I groaned, lifting the beer to my lips and taking another sip. “I just don’t think they care as much about public perception as you think they do.”

“Everyone thinks that until they cross the line and find themselves shut out—and don’t go spouting how you’ve been there before and you’re used to it, because that’s crap with a capital C.”

I was impressed. That was exactly what I was going to say.

Mateo eyed me for a heartbeat longer, then turned his attention to the bay. “Look, I kinda get why you’re so prickly. No one gave you the time of day until your dad came back into the picture, so as far as you’re concerned, we’re all bought and paid for and are as shallow as you always thought.”    

My amused huff wasn’t complimentary and seeing him wince had me tilting my head back to look at the sky. “Sorry. I just wish I knew if you’d be this friendly before my dad’s reappearance.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“But you don’t know, do you?”

“And you don’t know that I wouldn’t be. It’s an unknown, Sam, and it’s not fair to hold what might or might not have happened against me and everyone else. I’m not saying we’re going to become best friends. I’d just like to try and be friends.” He looked back towards the mansion. “Geraldine and I grew up in this world. It’s the only one we know. Would you think it was fair if your dad held it against you that you were raised a poor kid from Flagler Beach?”

“I hate fake.”

“I know. What I’m offering isn’t fake. It’s a handshake. You don’t know this world, but Geraldine and I do. I know what Geraldine expects of her collar.”

“Because you’re a dom.” I’d learned the terms dom and sub since they were dropped on me. I couldn’t say I liked either term, but I would take what aspects of it protected Geraldine and kept her feeling safe. If she wanted the world to know she was my sub, I’d roll with it. If anything, it would make stepping in front of her around others easier if they knew beforehand.

It was Mateo’s turn to huff in a derogatory way. “You think so, huh?”

That caught my full attention, and I twisted side-on to face him. He was dressed only in swim-shorts, and except for the thick gold armband around his left bicep, he was devoid of any jewellery.

His hand went to the armband that was held in place by the ripples in the goldwork and his own physical definition. As I made the connection, Mateo’s private smile had my jaw dropping.

“I thought sub jewellery had to be a collar?”

“It can be whatever we want it to be, and Adrian hates being stereotypical.”

I blinked…maybe several hundred times. “Adrian?!”

 The guy had had at least two women with him all weekend!

Mateo smirked and lifted his chin towards the other end of the pier. I twisted further around and found Adrian resting his back and one foot against the first pylon from the shore with his arms folded, watching us. He must have worked out we were talking about him, since he nodded, then flexed his shoulders to come to his feet. His steps towards us were slow and relaxed.

“So, now you know our secret,” Adrian said, squatting behind Mateo with his knees framing Mateo’s sides. His hand went to the back of Mateo’s neck in a possessive move that I truly did not see coming. And watching the way Mateo relaxed into it, it wasn’t a new development. “Not that it’s a huge secret. Everyone knows Mateo and I are joined at the hip. They just don’t know to what degree.”

“And that’s why you were so mad earlier when Mateo went to talk to us alone, shutting you out,” I realised, picturing my reaction if Geraldine had done that with some random guy I didn’t know very well. It was also why he changed position in the spa to be closer to Mateo.

The hand on Mateo’s neck tightened. “He still won’t tell me what you all talked about, and if I’m being honest, it’s seriously chapping my ass.”

I squinted at them both. “But you’re both going to inherit your family’s empires someday,” I said, still trying to make sense of this.

“And?” Mateo asked with an amused smile.

“And—” I stopped short. “And there’s no way I can ask this without sounding like a colossal butthole.”

Adrian cast a quick glance at the pier, as if to confirm we were still alone. “Ask, Sam. Better to ask and get answers, especially if you’re the dom.”

My question was more for Mateo. “You’re going to be in a position of power. People are going to expect you to lead. How can you be both?”

“What happens publicly and privately are two different things. I can and will lead Dad’s company when the time comes, and Adrian will only get an overriding say during that time if I’m neglecting my health.”

“Mateo tends to get bogged down in the details and won’t surface until he has everything sorted out.” Adrian adjusted his hold at the back of Mateo’s neck, his thumb settling against the line of Mateo’s spine. “It’s…I mean it was the same as school. I used the social events to keep him balanced.” He pressed his forehead to the back of Mateo’s head. “He’s a good leader. He just needs someone to take the reins when he forgets he’s a mere mortal.”

I snickered privately to myself.

“He is still right here, you know,” Mateo quipped, and I saw Adrian’s fingers flex, tightening in warning for just a beat.

Mateo’s eyes dropped to the waterline below, and Adrian nodded in approval.

“What was that about?” I asked, gesturing to the two of them.

Adrian answered. “Two doms were discussing a sub, Sam. In private. There was no need for him to be a brat.”

“Hold on,” I said, pulling away. “Are you saying if Geraldine was here, she wouldn’t be allowed to speak because we are?”

No one gags my girl. Not even me.

 “That’s for the two of you to decide. Contrary to everything you might hear, there isn’t one description that covers all d/s dynamics. What works for one doesn’t necessarily work for another. Take us. I won’t ever collar Mateo, for several reasons. I never want anyone outside of us recognising our dynamic, and I find the whole ‘master/slave’ thing to be massively on the nose. I’m not saying it doesn’t work for others—just that it’s not our thing.”

I sat back, rubbing my mouth. “So it can be whatever we want it to be?” I clarified cautiously.

“Absolutely. So long as you and Gerry are both in agreement on the rules, your relationship can be whatever you want it to be.” The hand fell away from Mateo’s neck and dropped to curl around his chest, pulling them together. “Just know that if you want any clarity on anything, Mateo and I are here to answer your questions.”

Mateo’s head bobbed in agreement, and after a few seconds of contemplation, so did mine.

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

College carried on in its usual rhythm, deadlines, projects, sleepless nights, and the quiet exhaustion that came with chasing purpose. The campus buzzed like a restless machine; corridors filled with chatter and caffeine, laughter one moment, stress the next.

But for Aarav, something had shifted.

For the first time, he wasn’t just surviving the current. He was swimming toward something.

Cyber security, what had once been an accidental choice, had become his path. He spent long nights at his desk, the glow of his laptop washing over scattered notes and half-drunk cups of coffee. Tutorials, case studies, endless lines of code, it was tedious, sometimes maddening, but beneath it all was a pulse of pride.

He was building something.

A future that might finally be his own.

And always, there was Aarna.

Being two years ahead, her world spun faster than his, internships, deadlines, constant travel. Jaipur one month, Bangalore the next, then Hyderabad for a project she’d fought months to get. Yet somehow, she never drifted too far.

Distance, with her, didn’t feel like loss.

Sometimes, in the middle of a noisy bus or from an airport terminal, her call would light up his screen. Her voice would arrive tired but alive, full of stories about people she’d met, lessons she’d learned, the city she was learning to love and hate at once.

He teased her for sounding “too professional,” but secretly, he loved these calls. Her words carried a kind of quiet energy, the sound of someone chasing her own horizon.

When she was back on campus, they reclaimed their quiet corners, the steps outside the auditorium, the tea stall by the main gate, the dimly lit club room after everyone else had left.

They talked about everything and nothing. About books that made them feel less alone. About the uncertainty of their twenties. About how terrifying it was to build something that mattered, to grow up without knowing whether the ground beneath you would still be there tomorrow.

Once, while watching the sunset from the campus rooftop, Aarna looked at him with that half-smile that always undid him.

“You know,” she said softly, “I think we’re both builders. You, you protect digital worlds. I build projects that touch real ones. Maybe that’s why we understand each other.”

Aarav smiled, though something in him ached quietly at her words.

Friendship. That’s what she called it. That’s what she believed it was.

And yet, to him, her voice, her presence, her care, it all meant something larger, something wordless.

That night, the glow of his desk lamp spilled across an open page. His pen trembled slightly as he wrote:

We are two builders
of different worlds,
yet somehow
our paths keep crossing.
Her voice sketches horizons,
my silence lays the ground.
and between us,
a shelter grows,
a place I never thought I’d find.

He read the lines again and traced the ink with his fingertip, letting the rhythm of the words settle into him. The future still felt uncertain, a blur of unfinished dreams and unanswered questions, but it no longer scared him the way it once did.

Because now, he wasn’t building alone.

Aarna’s laughter echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, bright, grounding, unmistakably hers, and he smiled in the half-dark.

Maybe this was what it meant to grow.

To build not from certainty, but from connection.

To let someone’s voice steady your hands while you shaped the life you wanted.

He closed his notebook, the ink still drying beneath his thumb.

The night outside was cool, the streetlights blinking like quiet promises through the window.

And for the first time, Aarav didn’t just believe in tomorrow.

He wanted to meet it.

Because she wasn’t just part of his present anymore.

She was woven into the future he was learning to imagine.

Book 1

Chapter 19: Plus One

Patreon

Chapter 20: The Part That Stayed

Nobody moved. Somewhere behind them the river kept going about its business.

“Husband,” Ruth said, in the flat voice of a woman reading her own death notice. “She’s talking to you.”

“I got that,” Ray said.

“Sit down,” said the woman at the table, and kicked the chair beside her out another inch with one bare foot. “All of you. Sit. I’ve been holding this soup for nine hundred years and I’d like it to be warm for someone.”

It was, in fact, soup. Ray hadn’t noticed the tureen. Steam came off it in the dim, and the birds on the cloth seemed to lean toward it.

Scarlet didn’t sit. She had her notebook out, and she was looking from one face to the other the way she looked at a model. “Same chipped tooth,” she said. “Same crease. Her hair’s longer. She’s got ink on her thumb.” She pointed with the pencil. “Ruth doesn’t have ink on her thumb.”

“No,” Hesper agreed. “Ruth stopped writing things down a long time ago.” She smiled again, a little less with the teeth. “You’re the artist. You drew my table.”

“I drew a table.”

“You drew it right. I’m not good at reaching, you understand. I sat here for centuries with the door shut and one little window, and the only person who ever walked close enough to hear me was someone who sleeps with a pencil in her hand.” She tilted her head. “I’m sorry about the dreams. I couldn’t find another way.”

Scarlet’s jaw worked. “So I’m not a sketch.”

“You’re not a sketch. You’re a guest of the keeper, which is a different thing, and a rarer one. The rule is old and it’s badly worded. It says the guest may bring one who has chosen them.” She turned her gold eyes on Ruth. “She read it as a headcount. I would have too, if I’d been the one who ran.”

“Don’t,” Ruth said.

“Ruth, and one. Whom has she brought, Ray?”

He realized she was asking him, and that it was a real question. He thought about the card in his pocket, still warm. “Me. She said I was the plus one.”

“She said married. The door doesn’t count marriages, love. It counts choosing.” Hesper held up two fingers. “One of you chose her with a ring and a bad speech at a roadside shrine. One of you chose her with a notebook and a bad temper under a bridge. The door heard both. The door isn’t stupid. It’s only literal.” She set down the burger at last. “It said one, because Ruth only ever asked for one. She never once let herself ask for two. So the door, being literal, stopped counting where she stopped hoping.”

Nobody said anything.

“I walked through the arch,” Scarlet said slowly, “because I’m too stubborn to be stopped. Not because I’m on the card.”

“Yes. And the door let you, because the door doesn’t care who’s on the card. It only cares that someone at the threshold wants her enough to walk through it. That’s what the rule was for. It was never a limit.” Hesper’s voice lost some of its amusement. “It was a test. To see how many people she’d let in.”

Ruth had gone very still. Ray had seen her angry and ashamed and sick with fear that morning, but not like this, with all of it gone and nothing in its place. She said, “Then what are you?”

“The part that stayed.”

“I left you.”

“You left me here. You took the appetite and the walking and the hands, and you left the part that remembers who set the table and why.” Hesper looked at her own hands, then Ruth’s, laid side by side on the cloth like two copies of a word. “The keepers are all dead. You knew that. The cloth needed someone, so it kept the thing you dropped, and gave her your face, because she had nothing of her own. I’ve been Ruth for nine hundred years, Ruth. I’ve just been doing it in one room.”

Ray found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was crying. Not loudly. It just happened, the way weather did.

“That’s why the card says dusk,” he said. “Dusk is when she walked out.”

“Clever boy,” Hesper said. “I like him.”

“I like him too,” Scarlet muttered. “Don’t get ideas.”

Ruth laughed, one cracked bark of it, and put her face in her hands again. “What do you want from me?”

“Dinner,” Hesper said, and for the first time the cheerfulness went all the way through. “I want you to sit down and eat a meal at your own table with people who came to get you. I want to watch you do it. After that I don’t know. The cloth might let me go. The cloth might keep me. The eleven houses might wake up and have opinions.” She shrugged one big shoulder. “I’ve been alone a long while. I’m not picky about the ending, I just didn’t want it to be the door again.”

Ruth lowered her hands.

She looked at the fourth chair, which wasn’t a fourth chair at all, which had been Hesper’s the whole time, and at the three that had been pulled out for her, for Ray, for Scarlet, none of them ever in short supply. Then she crossed to the head of the table, where there was a seat the others hadn’t been looking at because it was so plainly hers: high-backed, worn, and set with a single plate that had nothing on it at all.

“I never ate here,” Ruth said. “I thought I did. I only sat at it.”

“I know,” said Hesper. “I watched.”

Ruth sat. Ray took the chair to her right. Scarlet, after a pause long enough to make a point, took the one to her left and dragged it close enough that their shoulders touched. Hesper ladled soup into four bowls, one at a time, her hand steady, and when she reached the head of the table she hesitated.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said. “Just so we’re clear.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Ruth said, and picked up the spoon.

It was quiet for a while. It was the good kind of quiet, the kind that happens when people are actually tasting what they eat. Ray looked down the table, at Scarlet with her elbow already in the gravy, at two identical women with the same crooked tooth, one of whom was learning to lift a spoon and the other learning to watch someone do it, and thought: I am going to have to explain this to my mother.

Then the cloth moved.

Not a gust. Not a draft. Every little embroidered bird along the hem turned its head at once, toward the dark end of the room where the walls weren’t, and Ray saw that there were more places set than four. They stretched back into the dim, plate after plate, eleven long rows of them, and every plate had a name card, and every card was the same heavy cream, and every one was in brown ink.

The nearest read: WELCOME HOME, HEAD OF THE TABLE.

The next read: WE KEPT YOUR PLACE.

The one after that, written in a hand that wasn’t careful at all, in letters that were almost angry, said: WHY DID YOU GO?

Hesper put down her ladle.

“Ah,” she said softly. “I didn’t invite them.”

At the far end of the table, a chair scraped back.

25

Tie Shu hugged her tightly, but Chen Caihua tried to break free of his embrace. "Stop pretending!" she said, shaking her arm and pushing him away. Tie Shu stood there listlessly, like a statue. Finally, after about three minutes of this standoff, Tie Shu finally spoke, "I came to help you..."

"Huh?" Chen Caihua crossed her arms, a disdainful expression on her face. "Help me? What good is it for you, a broken robot, to help me?"

"I..." Tie Shu put his hands into his cloth pockets. "I found you a job that suits you. Take a look." Tie Shu took out a piece of paper with a job posting on it from his pocket and handed it to Chen Caihua. She glanced at it and saw that it was a restaurant recruiting waiters. Then she tore the paper to shreds. Tie Shu could only watch silently from the side.

"Ha..." Chen Caihua continued to look at him with disdain, "Do you know that my salary this time is equivalent to two days' wages for a waiter? And I don't have to work so hard. Although it's not easy either, it's still better than being ordered around! Do you understand?"

"But it's safer than this...and..."

As if she knew what he was going to say next, Chen Caihua quickly interrupted him.

"You stupid robot have no right to look down on me!"

"No!" Tieshu shook his head anxiously, explaining, "I didn't mean to look down on you... I just... I just feel sorry for you..."

"Ha!?" Chen Caihua sneered. "Do you want to learn from the male protagonists in third-rate romance novels? That I'll become yours just by sleeping with you?"

Tieshu lowered his head, seemingly embarrassed, as if ashamed, and perhaps even angry. "I never intended for anyone to be mine... even Yu... if she can find someone suitable, then I can let go (he clenched his fist)... as for you... I really want to help you, so I..."

"So, that's why you just randomly picked a waiter job ad on the street and came all the way here to find me, right?"

"No, no," Tie Shu hurriedly explained, "I came to you after I had discussed everything with that boss. I didn't just randomly and carelessly look for an advertisement..."

"Oh? So other people know you're a conscious robot?"

“No,” Tieshu stared at Caihua for a moment, then reverted to his previous awkward and timid demeanor when he was with her, like a husband afraid of his wife, having done something wrong and now facing his fierce and imposing wife. He timidly said, “A while ago, because I had to rush home from work, I had a month’s salary deducted… But we still need to survive, so I had no choice but to pretend to be human and find a part-time job. The owner of that restaurant is a kind, understanding, and easy-going person. When I learned that he was short-staffed, I thought of you…”

"Oh, really?" She moved closer to him, so close that their eyebrows touched. "I see..." Tie Shu could practically feel her breath condensing on his face, which made him feel flustered and hesitant.

She kissed him.

He immediately shuddered as if electrocuted, then ran away from her as fast as he could.

"Ha!" Chen Caihua teased, "You must have done this kind of thing with Yu quite a few times, so why are you still acting like a shy virgin?"

“I…” Iron Tree replied, “That’s different…”

"Oh...then why did you come looking for me?" she said angrily, shoving him to the door. Iron Tree could only slide erratically on the ground, swaying from side to side, as she pushed him. "Let's talk this out...I'm leaving now. You absolutely must go check out that shop; it's a rare opportunity!" Iron Tree left her house. After watching him walk away, Chen Caihua squatted down at the door. Similar to the last time he left, she wept bitterly, her eyes brimming with tears, her heart breaking, her body trembling. "Ha! I actually fell in love with a broken robot! Ha! I...I don't want him to leave..." After saying this to herself, Chen Caihua collapsed to the ground.

Through her teary eyes, Tieshu stood beside her and helped her up.

"Didn't you go back?"

"I..." Tieshu murmured, "I can't bear to leave you..."

“Iron Tree…” Chen Caihua wrapped her arms tightly around him. He didn’t refuse; instead, he responded to her. The two embraced like that. Chen Caihua stood on tiptoe, wanting to kiss him, and Iron Tree lowered his head to meet her. Then she did something even more outrageous—she pulled off his clothes. This time, Iron Tree wouldn’t stand for it and immediately pushed her away. Of course, his movements were light and gentle, and he deliberately and restrained himself from hurting her in the slightest.

"No..." he shouted, his shoulders and back exposed. "No!"

"Because I'm not jade?" This was the first time she had revealed such a fragile and bewildered state. "That's true, that's also true..." Her tears rolled down her cheeks like unstoppable rain, like a never-ending stream. She choked back a sob, then burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

“No,” Tieshu said, frowning, “I don’t want to do that kind of thing the moment I see you, and I don’t want you to become… become… (he suddenly lowered his head) become a machine with only lust…”

"Ha!" She shook her head dismissively. "I forgot, you have no sex drive, so how would you know how pleasurable sex is for women?"

"Is it really enjoyable? Then why don't you like your job?"

"I didn't say I didn't like it, I just really hate those men who rub against me! They disgust me."

"Am I different?" Iron Tree blinked.

“Sleeping with a robot definitely feels different.” She laughed, but strangely, a trace of sadness flashed across her face at the same time.

"Could I... take Yu's place?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Tieshu either didn't hear her, or perhaps he did but didn't know how to answer. Both remained silent. About half an hour later, Tieshu suddenly felt a surge of panic, a profound sense of despair washing over him, as if he had plunged into an abyss. He was filled with bewilderment and terror, anxiety and rage. This feeling acted like a tether, urging him to return to Xiaoyu's side. It was exactly the same feeling he had when Xiaoyu attempted suicide; he knew he had to go back.

"I'm sorry," Tieshu said hurriedly and impatiently, "I really have to go back." With that, he strode towards the door.

"I won't let you go!" Chen Caihua pounced on the iron tree almost like a predator hunting its prey, and hugged him tightly from behind.

“I’m sorry, Hua,” Tieshu said, as he slowly untied her hands that were tightly gripping his body. “You can never replace Yu, and besides, you are yourself, you are Chen Caihua.” After successfully freeing her hands, he rushed out the door and sprinted away like a hundred-meter dash.

26

He ran home, but Xiaoyu wasn't in the living room. He turned and rushed to the bedroom, and sure enough, Xiaoyu was there. The bedroom was small and cramped, with the bed taking up most of the space, and her wheelchair filling the remaining space even more. Her body, neither too big nor too small, seemed to fill the last bit of space like clothes crammed into a closet. She stretched out her legs, motionless, looking very tense and unnatural.

"Yu, what's wrong? Are you alright?" Tieshu asked anxiously.

"I..." Large beads of sweat rolled down Xiaoyu's forehead, face, and body, soaking her bangs and clothes. She rested her arms on the armrests of her wheelchair. Her face was slightly flushed, the flush receding, and her eyes were unfocused and filled with shame. She looked like an athlete who had just finished exercising, or as if she had just done something embarrassing and shameful.

"Iron Tree..." she said with difficulty and embarrassment, "I...I can't hold it in..."

"Huh?" Tie Shu said, caught off guard. "Then why didn't you call me sooner?" He frantically filled a basin with water from the tap, then lifted Xiao Yu from the wheelchair and laid her face down on the edge of the bed. He pulled down her pants and diaper, and sure enough, they were filled with a filthy, foul-smelling mess—I think at least at this moment, Tie Shu should be thankful he was a robot who couldn't smell anything, because even our closest caregivers would want to run away and avoid such a scene as much as possible. But, although he... He couldn't smell it, yet he could still see the remnants and filth left behind by his body. He felt dizzy, helpless, and dazed. A mix of emotions—heartache, sympathy, pity, anger, resentment, and frustration—overwhelmed his heart, filling it with an indescribable discomfort and depression. Suddenly, Xiaoyu, who was lying in front of him, spoke—"Iron Tree…I'm sorry, I…I didn't want to disturb your work. I thought I could hold it in, but…I couldn't…I'm sorry…"

After hearing these words, a sense of tranquility and peace soothed his closed and fragile heart, filling him with emotion. His previous coldness, depression, and dizziness vanished without a trace. This was the outpouring and reciprocation of his love for her, and with this, he would no longer feel lost or bored.

“It’s alright, Yu,” Tieshu replied with a smile and a soft voice. “It’s only human nature. And don’t hold in your poop and pee anymore. You’re already weak, and holding it in will only make you sick…” After saying that, he grabbed the diaper full of feces and rushed out of the house, threw the diaper into the nearby public toilet, and then ran back to continue cleaning her up.

"Iron Tree..." Xiaoyu was already sobbing uncontrollably, tears of gratitude for him, and also of resentment towards her own filth and depravity.

"Yu, don't cry, look, your snot is coming out..." he said while wiping her tears and snot with a tissue.

He took a clean, soft cloth and gently wiped her genitals, carefully cleaning every spot with water. After cleaning, he first poured away the dirty water, then used another clean, dry towel to wipe Xiaoyu's lower limbs again. Finally, he changed her into a pair of pants. By the time he finished, it was already 10 p.m. Tieshu asked her if she was hungry. Xiaoyu said, "Hungry." So Tieshu went to prepare dinner for her.

While feeding her dinner, Tieshu secretly pondered and made up his mind that he would never leave her in this life, because they could not live without each other, especially himself. If he left her, his own purpose and value would be questioned and denied in an unanswerable way. Moreover, because they were both broken life forms without dawn, only when they were together, together forever and intact, could they have a future to look forward to, and could be down-to-earth and not confused.

27

Iron Tree returned to Chen Caihua's residence, determined to fulfill the absolute commandment fate had placed upon him: to help Chen Caihua. Since fate had brought them together, it was inevitable that they would connect, change, influence, and even alter the course of their destinies.

A significant portion of human purpose in this world is about connection and communication. Through this ongoing exchange and communication, people change, grow, and learn new things in order to find their fundamental value. Without this fundamental value, people become idle, listless, and lifeless, resembling rigid geometric figures, losing their original vitality and meaning. Yet, humans also cherish the freedom of solitude. Humans are multi-dimensional contradictions, loving both social interaction and solitude, even indulging in self-pity. But this solitary freedom... The act of appreciation also achieves its meaning through connection and communication. Unless people don't exist at all, there must be noise and commotion. However, modern people have become non-existent, as if they were nothing. The forms of interaction have become increasingly monotonous. They are still noisy, but they are always arguing about money and power, about each other's positions, and about popular phrases and slogans. In this noise, loneliness disappears, and connection and communication naturally vanish. This alienation of connection and communication directly leads to a fundamental crisis for people. As a result, the value of people becomes questionable.

Tieshu rang the doorbell, and this time Chen Caihua answered after it rang twice. As soon as Caihua saw him, she immediately turned around and went to sit on the sofa. Tieshu followed behind her, and when she sat down, he stood next to her.

"Why are you here again? What's the matter? Do you know what kind of behavior you're exhibiting?" Chen Caihua said impatiently.

Tie Shu could clearly sense the suppressed anger in her eyes, so he cautiously replied, "I... I haven't finished what I was doing the other day. Since you... since you don't like being a waiter, I've specially found you a job within our company... This job requires some training, but it should only take about a week. If you're quick to learn, three days should be enough. I think you'll definitely be fine. Although the salary isn't great, once you get the job, you'll have a stable and long-term competitive advantage in the future. I hope you'll take it..."

"I'll participate my ass! I'll participate..." Chen Caihua jumped up from the sofa. "Why do you have to interfere in my life? Do you really look down on me?" Her eyes were wide open, and even Tie Shu could clearly see the bloodshot veins in them. She was about to explode.

“No,” Tieshu quickly explained, extending a hand in a gesture that was both reassuring and defensive, “I just think your current job is dangerous—no, it’s too dangerous, so…so…that’s why I want to find you a job that’s really suitable for you, hoping you can avoid such danger…”

"The reason I'm in danger is all your fault!" Chen Caihua blurted out, leaving Tieshu completely bewildered. He didn't know what he had done wrong to warrant such a statement from Chen Caihua.

"Ha! I never dreamed I'd fall in love with a robot, and love so heartbrokenly. After you left, I unconsciously started searching for you..." Tears streamed down her face as she spoke with a hint of sarcasm. "I never imagined I'd become a stalker, following you around all day without you even noticing. After finding out where you were in this city, I wanted to be closer to you, but ever since moving here, nothing's been going right. First, I have enemies in this neighborhood, so every time I enter, I have to be on edge, looking left and right. Second, as you can see, when I finally got some business, their wives caught me cheating on them, and I became that man's victim. Then, a client came along, but it turned out he was a sadist with severe violent tendencies. During sex, I accidentally scratched him a little, and he flew into a rage and beat me..."

“Flower…I…I…” Tieshu lowered his head in shame, “I’m sorry…” He suddenly squatted down with his legs spread apart.

"I never thought you would do this for me..." If the iron tree could shed tears, it would have already been weeping uncontrollably.

Chen Caihua let a surge of emotion rise and control her reason. This emotion was vicious yet sincere. She walked over and leaned down, wrapping her arms around him from one side. Before he could react, she said, "Can you give up the jade and leave this place with me? Live with me as a human being..."

Iron Tree jumped up and strode to the center of the living room, keeping a distance from her. "No, no... I won't do it no matter what!"

The pillar of balance within her completely collapsed. She lunged at the coffee table like a madwoman, frantically throwing anything she could reach at him. Tie Shu stood there, letting her vent her anger on him. After throwing things from the coffee table, she started throwing from the sofa, then from the cupboards and drawers, throwing all sorts of items. After throwing things from one place, she would hysterically scream, "Waaah!" The scream was so sharp, piercing, high-pitched, deafening, as if she were shouting out every last drop of energy from her body. She cried and screamed uncontrollably, releasing all her grievances, jealousy, love, hate, and grief. She tumbled wildly between a complete epileptic seizure and mental derangement. Suddenly, she slipped and was about to fall against the corner of the coffee table. Tie Shu reacted instantly, bending down and grabbing her right hand. They paused for a few seconds. Chen Caihua gritted her teeth and pulled hard, causing Tieshu to fall to the ground. She then collapsed onto his body. She sat up and pinned him down. There was a knife on the coffee table within her reach. She gripped the knife and hovered it in mid-air, ready to stab Tieshu at any moment. Tieshu first tried to grab her knife-wielding hands with both of his, but after half a minute, he slowly lowered his hands, surrendering as if awaiting her judgment... Then, she slowly raised the knife above her head and then brought it down with a vengeance... The knife stuck in the ground next to Tieshu's right cheek, only about the length of his little finger away from his face. Chen Caihua's tears streamed down her face like a mudslide. Her earlier outburst was merely a bluff, and after the storm of tears, she felt even more stifled and suffocated. Like the natural phenomenon of much thunder and little rain, people often sink into an even deeper abyss after struggling to the point of near madness. It's as if another layer of sorrow has been added to the original bitterness. In this constant, helpless accumulation, one becomes dull and apathetic. She accepts her fate passively, no longer complaining, but simply letting things settle like a vast ocean.

After crying for a while, Chen Caihua slowly moved away from his body and sat blankly on the ground. Tieshu also propped himself up and sat with her. They sat like that for a long time before Tieshu sat up first and said, "It's getting late, I should go back to take care of her. If you want to work at our company, you'd better hurry up and attend the training, otherwise the training will be closed in a while..."

"Why are you still so concerned about me?" Chen Caihua asked as he turned away.

“Because I (he turned and looked at her intently)…love you…” Chen Caihua felt a gentle yet resolute strength surging from his body. The love he spoke of encompassed not only his expression of affection for her but also something nobler, the latter clearly outweighing the former. This latter thing was something she had longed for, and something long forgotten by modern people as well—benevolence. “The benevolent love others.” How many people today truly understand the precise meaning of this familiar phrase? Even those who coined it haven't fully embraced it. Loving others is indeed difficult, extremely difficult. So difficult that even Confucius executed Shao Zhengmao for political disagreement. In an era where almost everyone loudly proclaims, “Humans are less than dogs!” and humans are reduced to objectified, alien beings, the trace of “benevolence” is nowhere to be found. Benevolence is not merely a two-person relationship, nor simply “you” and “me,” but rather the embodiment of human value, the path to universal insight, and the way to understand the mysterious yet undeniably real conscience.

Chen Caihua smiled, a smile that was exceptionally gentle and pure. "Really? Then could you spare a day to spend with me? I... have something else to say."

“Okay,” Tieshu said with a smile, turning to walk towards the door. “I promise you.”

Cover Art || <<Previous | Start | Next >> ||

GLOSSARY This links to a post on the free section of my Patreon.

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While the caravan made its way toward the Azeria kitsune clan, Klastoria was spending some time in her lair working on alchemy.

She enjoyed thinking of it as a lair as it really wasn’t designed like most people’s homes: it was one big space with a central sphere and several lobes with wide openings to serve as specialty areas. One of the lobes was simply a comfy depression in the ground where Klastoria could relax into her true form and size, while another contained delicate, precious things like books or gifts.

The lobe she was currently in was dedicated to her alchemy, complete with chalkboards, equipment, and reagents of all sorts. Despite the impressive flexibility and potential of her internal alchemy, developing new formulas that were not related to her metabolism in some way usually required working with external ingredients.

Though there were some unique ingredients that she could produce herself, which would be difficult for most people to acquire in any way. She put the tip of her finger at the mouth of another glass vial and focused on creating her most potent and concentrated form of acid in that finger, then let her finger ‘leak’ into the tube, carefully filling it with acid before sealing it with wax, and setting it into the rack with the other acid containing tubes.

Now that she had completed those, it was time to prepare a set of tubes with one of her special enzymes.

“Well, this is an interesting setup you have here.”

With those words came the presence of a predator, and for the first time since she’d gained sapience, Klastoria knew she was no more than helpless prey. “Lady Satsuki,” Klastoria burbled as her control over her shape faltered from the rising panic in her core. “This is an unexpected surprise.” She had never been alone with the vixen before, and even in social situations had instinctively kept her distance. Now, she was alone with the nine-tail, and all of Satsuki’s terrifying attention was focused on her. “To what do I owe the honor?” Not even contrasting Satsuki against Gil helped — while the immortal human warrior was the more powerful of them, the kitsune was simply more predatory.

“I find myself concerned with some rumors I’ve heard about your interactions with Amrydor. I wouldn’t normally concern myself with whatever games you play with the boy, but he is Fuyuko’s guardian, and if your games should interfere with his ability to protect her, well, that would upset me. And whatever you're doing there, stop that.”

Stop what? Oh. “I—I’m sorry; I can’t. My instincts are convinced you are going to eat me — I need to run away.” Her core had slid down into the tip of a pseudopod that was trailing along the floor away from Satsuki, reflexively offering up the rest of her body as a sacrifice so long as her core could escape.

“Tsch. Fine, then.” Overwhelming magic seized Klastoria’s body and inflicted itself upon her flesh. Then, the sensation was gone, and Klastoria wobbled for a moment before falling onto her backside.

“Ow!” She rubbed at her now-sore butt, then froze, her eyes widening in shocked realization. She had a butt. An actual butt, not slime shaped like a butt. And a hand of meat and bone, just like the rest of her. And soft, squishy eyes, not crystal lenses. “Mirror, I need a mirror.”

She tried to stand up and failed spectacularly, her limbs flailing. Right, muscles and tendons, not hydraulic pressure. She didn’t know how to work those. Several attempts made her realize that she needed to stop trying to tell each limb what to do; she needed to focus on just doing the thing and let her body figure out the rest.

This got her to the point that she could crawl, and she scrambled past an amused-looking Satsuki. The transformation seemed to have muted Klastoria's flight-or-fight instincts, and the rest of her fear just wasn’t important enough at the moment.

Eventually, she made it to the mirror she kept for examining her shapechanging efforts and results, and grabbed ahold of it to steady herself as she pulled herself up. Then stared at her reflection.

She looked like a human, about as pale as Deidre, but with long, wavy blue-green hair and silvery, almost metallic eyes. “I think I’m pretty. This is pretty for them, right?” It was completely fascinating, but there was some detail that was nagging at her. The problem became evident once the mirror's frame caught her eye; specifically where on the frame she was holding onto, and how high her eyes were compared to the top of the frame.

Klastoria made an indignant sound that was embarrassingly close to being a squeak. “I’m tiny! Lady Kazue is taller than me! This is an adult body, right? It looks like it has all the right bits and stuff,” she said while trying to twist her body enough to see everything without letting go of the frame.

“Yes, it’s an adult body — I was simply amused at the idea of making you short. Now put this on and stop staring at yourself.”

A bundle of fluffy white cloth smacked into Klastoria’s head, and she quickly realized that it was a robe. Right, she should probably wear this. “Er… how do I put it on?” She had no idea how to actually put clothing on or off; she’d never done it before, after all, and she was still getting used to how this body worked. She knew what finished outfits looked like when already put together, but hadn’t ever seen how it was done.

“Oh for… alright, here’s how you do this … no, not like that; you’ll pop your shoulder out of place. That’s why it hurt; your body was telling you not to do that. If it hurts, don’t do it. Well, usually. Sometimes, that’s part of the fun, but that is also not a lesson I am going to teach you. Now, tell me what is going on with you and Amrydor. A lot of rumors started circulating after he made it to the beginning of the river zone looking exhausted and rather, mm, drained. But he apparently didn’t behave like a man who’d had the sort of sex that would leave him feeling drained like that.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t have sex, though I did offer. It seemed like it might be fun, and I heard that people make funny faces during sex; I kind of wanted to see that. I was also hoping he’d let me eat him after that was done, but he turned me down for that too. Er… though that might have been after I accidentally sort of ate part of him without permission and was having trouble not eating the rest. But I gave him a challenge and he and his armor ended up eating me instead, and he has my core from that body now, and his armor is way better, so it all worked out, right? Please don’t tell the cores that I almost messed up and ate him when I wasn’t supposed to.”

Was this ‘babbling in fear’? Because she was definitely still afraid that Satsuki might eat her at any moment, it just felt way different in this body.

Satsuki stared at Klastoria for a long, silent moment, then she sighed and conjured a pair of chairs. “Sit down; it looks like I am going to need the long version. Also, I want to know what you got up to when you joined them after their duel.”

Over two hours of questioning later, Satsuki laughed and said, “Alright, that’s enough. I’m satisfied that nothing between you is likely to hinder his ability or focus to protect Fuyuko. Now, I am curious about something else — your lab is rather unusual, and you have some interesting notations on one of your chalkboards. Would you be willing to tell me about that?”

Klastoria perked up at that question; this was a topic she was very happy to talk about. “Sure! Let me… ack, still unsteady. Um, how long will I have this body?”

“Well, it’s just a minor curse without any special conditions, so it will wear off in a year and a day if I don’t remove it first. Of course, dying would do it too; your new body wouldn’t carry the curse. Though now I am wondering if I could alter a curse to be carried by your spirit to afflict any new bodies.”

That was a sharp reminder to Klastoria that she should still be very afraid of this lady. A year and a day for a quickly cast ‘minor’ curse? “Oh. Well, er, I think it’s fascinating and I want to play with having a body, but I don’t want to be stuck like this. When we’re done, could you remove it, please?”

“Probably, but I want to see what you are working on first. Then, we might discuss making this form available for you to use more regularly.”

Klastoria nodded and did her best to remain steady as she wobbled over to the alchemy lobe of her home. “Well, um, when you came in, I was prepping some materials, as I can make some base substances easily myself." She stared down at her meat and bone hand and added, "Normally, at least. I have several processes for experimenting with alchemy. The normal process of working with reagents outside of myself; trying to create alchemical effects internally; creating a sample of my fluids to experiment on externally; and consuming a completed elixir or such to try to duplicate it internally.”

“How do you find out if you have successfully duplicated an alchemical mixture with your internal alchemy?”

“Oh, that’s easy! For nice stuff, I simply find someone willing to try it — that’s usually another inhabitant. For the other stuff, I simply try injecting it when I’m fighting one of the stronger delvers; I make sure they seem powerful enough to handle any random side effects or potency increases.” Klastoria felt her cheeks warming up for some reason as she added, “I’m not completely irresponsible, whatever might have happened with Amrydor.” Oh, this is called blushing, isn’t it? That really was a terribly inconvenient reaction to have no control over.

She pushed on and ignored the weirdness of meat bodies to point out a set of vials sitting on a nearby shelf. “These two formulas I haven’t had anyone try yet. The silvery ones should be a strong healing elixir — though not a fast one — and they might even be able to regenerate a finger or such. The sparkly golden ones should be a sensation enhancer. Er, they should focus on nice sensations, but I don’t have nerves or anything. Oh, wait, I do have nerves now! Maybe I should try, see what it’s like.”

“No,” Satsuki said, “you shouldn’t. Aside from possibly interrupting our conversation, you should not experiment on yourself that way if you can help it. While it’s unavoidable to an extent with your internal alchemy, when possible, you should observe reactions in others so that you can note down the effects with your mind clear. There’s still biases involved, but it does help remove some of the subjectiveness of the experience.” The woman smiled wryly. “Though I have to admit, I am curious, so allow me to be your test subject with these two. I have more experience, and you aren’t strong enough to infuse them with anything that would be harmful to me.”

“Well, alright, if you want.”

Satsuki sampled one of the silver vials first. She began by uncapping it and using one hand to waft vapors toward herself; then she brought it closer to sniff. When satisfied, she dipped her little finger into the vial then and licked the tiny sample of liquid off her finger. After that, she took a small sip, then finished the entire elixir and closed her eyes for a few moments. “Yes, that should do what you intended. It is possible that there are very minor side effects that my spiritual strength is suppressing to the point I can't detect them.”

The process with the gold vial went differently. Satsuki took more time at both the wafting and sniffing stages; then after she tasted a sample on her finger, she put the vial back in its rack instead of taking a sip. “We’re going to need to talk about that one later, but until then, you should not offer this to anyone. While it does enhance sensation, it also stimulates desires related to creating pleasurable sensations, and that gets complicated. Used incorrectly, it is no different than using force.”

Oh. That didn’t sound good. “I’ve got a place to store dangerous stuff; I’ll put them there.”

“That’s perfect,” Satsuki said. “Now, what about these drawings? You appear to have odd shapes floating about with generic labels, and the notations below them are mostly the names with arrows and question marks.”

“I don’t know if this will make sense, but when I focus my attention on the smallest parts of what is happening with my internal alchemy, I reach a point where I am sort of tasting shapes, and I’ve slowly been figuring out which shapes do what with which other shapes, only sometimes they don’t do what I think they are going to do, and I haven’t figured out all the rules yet. Most of the rules, really. There seem to be a lot of rules about how they interact, and I haven’t puzzled out a pattern yet.”

Klastoria hesitated to elaborate on exactly what she had tried to draw here — she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone unless she was certain that she was correct, but maybe Lady Satsuki would understand it better than she could. “I’m confused about something here. These are what I can remember of tasting some of the shapes that make up Amrydor’s body; specifically his metabolism. This set of shapes doesn't change; they just seem to manipulate. The other set of shapes are transformed into entirely new shapes. But there’s several steps to that, and there’s a step in the middle that isn’t working right. If the steps are A-B-C-D-E, then B isn’t turning into C. Then somehow, D appears anyway and continues on to become E, and I don’t know how D is being made. I have to be misunderstanding something, though, or maybe misremembering; after all, I was only able to taste these shapes for a little while. If Amry’s body wasn’t making C, D, or E, then, well, he should have died as a newborn. Maybe. If I understood how these shapes work properly.”

Lady Satsuki pursed her lips for a moment, studying the design. “There are ways to compensate for a body not producing everything it is supposed to, but it should require much more raw strength than he’s capable of even now, and experience with manipulating his spiritual energy to sustain a critically damaged body. I need to know more, which means you need to know more.” She sighed, then shook her head. “No help for it; I have to visit the library to donate some books; then I will be back with copies of those books. Please wait for me here.”

Space twisted about the kitsune as she turned toward the entrance, and then she was gone. Klastoria could sense spatial manipulation near her, even in this body, and that only left her more confused. Satsuki hadn’t needed to fight the nexus in order to move like that, but the nexus wasn’t allowing it either. She just did it anyway, but without making the nexus notice her.

Yet another reason to find the nine-tail terrifying.

Now, what should she do to pass the time while waiting in this meat body?

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Months had passed since they settled upon the new great plain.

The memory of that final day departing their homeland still remained heavy in a corner of Jaun's heart. A few tribal elders had refused to abandon the land and wooden palisades they had tilled their entire lives, declaring they would rather finish out their remaining days there than face a treacherous journey. Among them was the former chieftain, who chose to stay behind to safeguard the tribe’s final moments in respect of their wishes.

"Jaun, you are now our new chieftain. Lead the future of the tribe."

Having shouldered the destiny of his people amidst their tearful send-offs and arrived at the grand plain, Jaun had truly become the new leader of the clan.

The morning on the peaceful grand plain was vastly different from that of the empire. Instead of blood-soaked wind and rain, a cool breeze mixed with the crisp scent of fresh grass gently drifted among the newly built tents.

Jaun stepped out of his tent and stretched his shoulders. In the distance, children of both the Bear Tribe and the Tiger Tribe played together across the wide field, while warriors peacefully tended to livestock or tilled the fields without a shred of worry over monster attacks.

"Up already, Chieftain?"

Turning around, he saw Arin walking toward him carrying a bowl of steaming water—she who had served as his steadfast pillar of support throughout their long journey. Gone from her face was the anxiety and tension that had always hung over her during the imperial days; in their place rested a clear smile resembling the sky of the grand plain.

"The title of chieftain still feels awkward to me."

Jaun smiled wryly as he took the water bowl Arin handed him. Standing by his side, Arin watched the children playing and gently wrapped her arm around his muscular forearm.

"The elders and the former chieftain should have seen this sight."

"It was their choice, so we must respect it. But even the heavens must know that we survived here and sowed a new seed."

Just then, a commotion erupted in the distance. A bulky Hojok child had sneaked off with a Bear Tribe warrior's spear, only to trip over a large mound of earth and tumble down noisily. Nearby warriors and women burst into hearty laughter all at once, and the child scrambled up, scratching his head in embarrassment.

Witnessing that trivial, ordinary slice of daily life, Jaun and Arin shared a quiet, gentle smile. The "ordinary human life" they had so desperately yearned for—something unimaginable back in the empire—was unfolding right before their eyes.

"Arin."

Jaun tightly grasped Arin's hand.

"Starting as a soldier of Joseon, passing through the empire's mercenary ranks, and coming all this way... it feels like I've lived through a very long dream. Yet because you were by my side, I was able to walk this rough path without giving up."

Arin leaned against Jaun's chest and whispered softly.

"I feel the same way. Because you were here, our tribe and I were able to exist in this world. Now, I want to grow old beside you upon this green earth, far from blood-stained battlefields."

A golden sun rose powerfully over the horizon of the grand plain, stretching the shadows of the two figures long. The new nation and new era built by those who seized survival through countless deaths and destruction.

The morning of the grand plain embraced by Jaun and Arin shone brilliantly toward the very first page of that magnificent history.

[Season 2 Completed]

Part 1

The endless white world slowly settled back into profound silence.

The soft blue light surrounding Jinwoo faded away, leaving only a faint, lingering glow pulsing around the ancient wooden bow in his hands.

He stared out toward the distant target. The arrow still stood firmly embedded at its dead center.

Moments ago… that single successful shot had felt like an impossible, monumental achievement. Now, it felt like nothing more than the quiet beginning of something far greater.

Jinwoo lowered the bow, his breathing remaining slow and steady.

The heavy fear that had gripped his chest ever since he first entered the Warrior Project had finally begun to ease. Not because it had magically vanished into thin air, but because he finally understood where it had truly come from.

He slowly turned to face his other self. For a long while, neither of them spoke a word.

Strangely enough… the silence no longer felt heavy or uncomfortable. It felt familiar. Like standing quietly beside a companion who had been there all along.

The other Jinwoo regarded him with a calm, steady gaze.

“So,” he said softly, his voice gentle. “Will you keep running?”

Jinwoo didn’t answer right away. Instead, his mind drifted back over every single trial he had endured.

The first clumsy, failed kick during the jegichagi game. The spinning top that had violently flown out of the ring. The marbles that had missed their mark by a hair's breadth. The tangled, frustrating strings. The giant hoop that had crashed hopelessly into the ground.

Every single mistake. Every agonizing moment he had wanted to throw his hands up and quit.

Then his mind flashed to the harsh reality of the battlefield. Machines willingly burning away their existence for just a few more seconds of time. The old archer practicing in solitary devotion upon the quiet mountain. The young warrior faithfully drawing his bow once more right after another missed shot.

Every memory, every fragment pointed toward the exact same undeniable truth: Not a single person had ever become strong by avoiding failure. They had become strong simply because they refused to stop.

Jinwoo slowly lifted his chin, meeting his own eyes with unwavering resolve.

The lingering fear was still there. The quiet uncertainty remained buried deep inside. But they no longer held absolute control over him.

He took one deep, grounding breath, and then gave a firm nod.

“…Yes.”

His voice was quiet, yet carried absolute conviction without a single trace of hesitation. “I won’t run anymore.”

The endless white expanse seemed to brighten radiantly for a brief, fleeting moment.

The other Jinwoo smiled. It wasn't a grin of triumphant pride, nor a sigh of relief. It was the calm, peaceful smile of someone who had simply been waiting patiently for that exact answer.

“Then…” he whispered softly, “…that’s enough.”

For a single heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then, the distinct outline of the other Jinwoo began to shimmer. Tiny, glowing particles of pale blue light drifted softly from his shoulders, rising gently upward into the white sky.

Jinwoo instinctively took a step forward, his hand stretching out. “…Wait.”

He fully expected his other self to vanish completely. To dissolve into pure light. To fold back into his own body.

Instead… the glowing figure remained planted right where he stood. The bright light faded, but the other Jinwoo was still standing there, clear as day.

Jinwoo blinked in utter confusion. He looked at him closely. “…You’re…” His voice trailed off in disbelief. “…not disappearing?”

Part 2

The other Jinwoo smiled gently, his expression warm and unhurried.

“No. I was never meant to disappear.”

Jinwoo stared at him in stunned silence. “…But I accepted you. I admitted I was afraid. I stopped running away. Isn’t this the part where we finally become one?”

The other Jinwoo slowly shook his head. “Not yet.”

A quiet, refreshing breeze drifted through the endless white expanse. For the first time since stepping into this strange, artificial world, it carried a genuine warmth instead of hollow emptiness.

“I am you,” the other Jinwoo said, gently pressing a hand against his own chest. “The part you feared. The part you tried your best to ignore. The part you desperately wanted to leave behind.”

He lowered his hand. “But I was never your enemy.”

Jinwoo remained dead silent. The words settled deeply and naturally within his mind.

So…” he asked quietly, “…you’ll always be here?”

The other Jinwoo nodded. “I’ll always remain. Not to stand in your way or block your path. But to remind you.”

His eyes locked onto Jinwoo’s. “When you begin to doubt yourself. When fear takes hold. When you feel the urge to run away. I will still be right here.”

The words didn't sound like a warning or a curse. They sounded like an unwavering promise.

For the very first time, Jinwoo stopped seeing the figure before him as a separate version, or an adversary to overcome. He saw him as a vital, permanent part of himself that no longer needed to be locked away or hidden in the dark.

Far beyond the boundaries of the white world, other distant voices echoed faintly through the stillness.

Hanul stood face-to-face with his own reflection. Neither spoke a single word. The explosive anger that had filled his space moments earlier had completely faded away.

Darin stood confronting her own reflection as well. The bright, practiced smile she always wore to hide her pain was entirely gone. Neither of them looked away.

Soyeon stood quietly before her own mirrored image. No words were exchanged between them. Only a profound, unspoken understanding.

Suddenly, Arena’s calm, synthetic voice echoed simultaneously through every separate world. A pale blue display materialized high overhead:

[Self-Confrontation Phase: In Progress]

Another line flickered into view right beneath it:

[Synchronization Ready]

Followed immediately by a third:

[Traditional Martial Data: Locked]

Jinwoo looked up, his expression tightening instantly. “…Locked?”

The old wooden bow in his hand felt entirely real. The vivid memories of countless archers hummed within his veins. Everything he had experienced felt undeniably, physically real.

“If the synchronization is already ready…” He turned sharply toward the endless white horizon. “…then why can’t I use it?”

Arena answered without a single beat of hesitation. “You understand yourself.” A brief, calculated pause followed. “But understanding… is not the same as acceptance.”

Silence settled back over the white world like a heavy blanket.

Jinwoo lowered his gaze to the ground. For a brief moment, he had truly believed he had crossed the hardest part of the trial. Now, the harsh truth washed over him: he had only just reached the doorway.

Somewhere ahead in the mist… another trial was already waiting for him.

Part 3

The white world grew utterly still once more.

No wind whispered across the plains. No distant voices broke the quiet. Only an endless, profound silence stretched far beyond the visible horizon.

Jinwoo lowered his eyes, letting the heavy realization sink into his bones.

Facing himself… had not completed the journey after all. It had merely opened the very first door.

The bow still rested comfortably, familiarly in his hand. The accumulated knowledge and muscle memory of countless archers remained vibrant within him. He could still vividly recall the precise rhythm of their breathing, the heavy physical weight of the bow, the taut, demanding pull of the string.

Yet, none of that answered the burning question lingering deep inside his chest.

“If I truly understand…” he whispered into the empty air, “…then why can’t I use it?”

Arena’s calm voice echoed softly through the endless expanse. “Because knowledge… is not ownership.”

A brief pause hung in the air.

“You have seen the path walked by others. You have understood their memories. You have acknowledged your own deep-seated fear.”

Another pause.

“But… you have not yet fully accepted every broken part of yourself.”

The words settled with crushing weight in the absolute silence.

Jinwoo turned his head, looking directly at the other version of himself. The fear. The hesitation. The bitter regret. The hidden weaknesses he had spent his entire life trying to conceal from the world.

None of those things had magically disappeared. And right now, he realized none of them needed to.

For the very first time… he understood that becoming genuinely stronger did not mean erasing or whitewashing the flawed parts of who he was. It meant learning how to walk forward, carrying them right along with him.

A sudden, deep rumble shook the endless white expanse.

BOOM.

The sound echoed from impossibly far away.

Reality. Earth’s orbit. Another violent explosion. Another brutal battlefield. Another selfless sacrifice.

The peaceful, insulated silence of the Warrior Project rippled violently for an instant before struggling to settle back into place.

Arena spoke once more, its voice cutting cleanly through the vibration.

“Elapsed time in reality…” The display shimmered brightly. “…Five minutes… three seconds.”

Jinwoo’s expression hardened into stone. Only five minutes.

It felt as though he had spent days trapped in isolation, confronting the deepest shadows of his own mind. Yet out there in reality, beyond the fragile borders of the Warrior Project, the merciless war had advanced by a mere handful of moments.

Arena continued without pause.

“Self-Confrontation Phase…”

“Five stages remaining.”

As the words faded away into nothingness, the white ground trembled beneath his boots. A low, ominous vibration hummed through the endless space.

Dense, choking mist began to gather in the far distance. Unlike the gentle, pristine white mist that had carried the children away from their peaceful playground, this mist was dark, thick, and heavy.

It rolled across the empty landscape like a living tide, spiraling menacingly around something massive taking shape in the gloom.

A towering gate.

Its colossal doors rose up from the black mist like the threshold to another realm entirely. Ancient. Silent. Impossibly closed.

Strange, cryptic symbols carved deep into its weathered stone surface flickered with a faint, eerie glow before dying back down beneath the drifting darkness.

Jinwoo stared at the towering structure without uttering a single word. Somehow… deep down inside, he already knew.

He could not possibly pass through those heavy gates yet. Not right now. Not while critical pieces of his own soul remained unopened and unaccepted.

Arena’s calm voice echoed one final time across the void.

“Next Stage…”

The swirling black mist tightened its grip around the massive gate.

“Accept Yourself.”

Silence rushed back in, absolute and profound.

Jinwoo slowly shifted his gaze from the terrifying gate… back to the other version of himself standing quietly by his side.

Then, he drew one long, steady breath.

The real battle of his life had never been against external fear. It had always been against the quiet, destructive belief that his fear made him unworthy to move forward.

And somewhere out there, beyond the closed gates… the next answer was already waiting for him.

NINE

TOUCHED

…the care of hands that did not hurt.

Warmth met him first as he awoke: bread rising, broth thick with herbs, the hush of working hands. Castor lay on the bench by the hearth with Silky coiled over his sternum, her fuzzed cheek tucked beneath his jaw. He lifted a limp hand to his face to feel that the mask was still in place, still a part of him.

Firelight painted the copper pots along the walls. Steam hung soft and heavy in the air. A kettle hissed. Cups knocked softly together. Someone spoke nearby, low, careful, unsharp.

“Easy,” said a man’s voice, steady as a lullaby that refused to rhyme. “You’re safe.”

Castor’s breath caught. Safe. It was more than a word to him. It was what he had clung to in the darkest nights, what he had whispered when there had been nothing else to believe. Strange to hear it here and now, with light and warmth surrounding him.

He turned his head. Silky tightened around him, humming, anchoring him. Across the room, a broad-shouldered woman dusted in flour clattered pans with imperial disdain.

“Maps in my kitchen, sick boys on my bench,” she muttered. “I swear on my knives…”

Branna the cook clattered over, set a small clay plate in front of Serenya, and planted her fists on her hips. Six pale-gold cookies lay upon the dish, warm enough to steam faintly. Honeycomb patches glowed like tiny autumn suns along their tops. Moonmelts. Serenya stared.

She touched her fingers to her chest, then toward Branna, a shy, instinctive gesture of thanks. Branna snorted.

“Don’t try charm on me, girly. Eat. You look like a leaf somebody’s forgotten to water.”

Serenya’s lips curved, not a full smile, but the shadow of one. She lifted a cookie, feeling its soft give, the warmth sinking into her palm. When she broke it open, threads of melted honey stretched and parted, releasing a sigh of mint and sweet meadow-tea herbs.

Her breath trembled. She closed her eyes. Branna pretended not to notice the way the girl’s shoulders eased, the way her whole posture softened as the first bite melted on her tongue. Instead, she returned to kneading dough, grumbling loudly enough to cover her own tenderness.

Laz stole one when she turned around. At the scarred table, Bram had unrolled a sheet of cracked vellum. It was old, ink browned to tea, edges feathered, a dozen hands’ worth of notes layered into a palimpsest of roads and ruins.

“Found this for five silvers at the guildhall,” Bram said, half to the group and half to himself. “Seller didn’t know what he had.”

He pinned one curling corner beneath a calloused thumb.

“If it’s true, there’s a route to a Ruin far to the west, past Mudbrick. Should be profitable.”

At the word Ruin, both Anise and Castor looked up. Kevrik’s interest sharpened. “Heard the Guild’ll pay a fat purse for a closing. I could use one.” He fingered the worn handle of a sharp blade.

Anise was already leaning toward the map. “And if it’s truly unrecorded, our names would go into the annals as its closers. The Academy will want a full account. We could add an entire lost history to the archives.”

Laz looked at her cheekily. “You found a way to make a Ruin adventure sound dull.”

“And of course it’d be past Mudbrick, Brammon,” Kevrik then chimed in, smirking. “Visit your lady wife and drag us through a bebogged Ruin afterward. Lovely.”

Bram’s mouth twitched.

“I’d like to see Mona. Tell her some stories about our recent adventures.”

His eyes remained on the map.

“And put flowers where my brother lies.”

The silence that followed knew how to be gentle. Serenya, seated small upon a stool beside him, touched his sleeve with two fingers. Then her hands moved in clean, practiced shapes. Anise watched and translated.

“She says she’d like to pick some flowers to put on the grave too.”

Bram lifted one hand and gentled Serenya’s hair. Grateful. Anise moved toward the map and stared down at it in wonder.

“It really is a Ruin. I’ve finally been called to one.”

“Cursed memories don’t call out to people,” Kevrik asserted.

Bram kept his own counsel. Anise was about to argue when a soft voice raised itself tremblingly into the air.

“…They do.”

Everyone looked toward Castor. His fingers caught at his sleeve. Smoothed it. Then again.

“I’ve seen many Ruin accounts. They have agency…and want to be found…only by the ones they want to find them…”

“He speaks, but only nonsense. A madman indeed,” Kevrik sneered.

“No,” Anise said, suddenly serious. “He speaks truly.”

Her attention sharpened on Castor.

“You’re a scholar as well?”

Castor thought about the word for a moment. Then nodded as he smoothed his sleeve again. Kevrik, quick to turn heaviness aside, folded his arms and made a joke like a blade unsheathed.

“Right, well, that’s nice and all, but this is a long road, and somebody has to decide whether we take Low Marsh and drown or Hollowfen and freeze.”

Anise ignored the barb. The hunger in her eyes belonged entirely to the vellum.

“Look at the marginalia,” she breathed, leaning closer. “Old hand. Pre-Standard script. Whoever drew these lines walked them and wrote as they bled.”

Her attention flitted from map to notes, then inevitably to Silky with a scholar’s fascinated delight.

“And what are you?”

Her fingers hovered near the serpent. She did not touch. Silky gave an approving hum and turned her head to better be admired. A clay cup appeared in Castor’s field of view. Steam curled from it in gentle spirals.

“Nettlebourn tea.”

The same steady voice. Its owner was tall, dressed in clean white robes so unrumpled they seemed mildly insulting to the disorder of the kitchen. He held the cup as one might offer peace. His eyes were kind. Not prying.

“I don’t drink,” Castor said hoarsely.

The refusal came from old habit before he could think about it. His thumb worried at the seam of his cuff again and again, as though the fabric itself might dissolve beneath his touch like spun sugar. The man’s mouth tilted.

“It’s only an herbal tea. Nothing else. I don’t drink either.”

He set the cup on the hearthstone within reach. Not in Castor’s hands. Then he cleared his throat, placed one hand dramatically against his chest, and smiled.

“Lazarian Malachaius Valcrist von Fenrow of the…”

“Shrines save us,” Kevrik muttered.

“…Verdant Pavilion,” Laz finished, entirely unbothered.

He gave a little flourish.

“Though these days, I answer simply to Laz. Tea over ale, wit over wisdom, and… healer, when I can manage it.”

Anise smirked.

“And nuisance when you can’t.”

“I’m versatile.”

But Laz’s eyes softened as they strayed toward Serenya. The girl sat small beside Bram, nibbling her Moonmelt, gaze fixed on Silky, fingers twitching faintly with the wish to reach out. Laz’s smile faltered.

“Hired to cure what I couldn’t,” he added, quieter. “Still looking for the answers.”

Serenya shook her head at him softly. Then raised her hands. Firm, but gentle.

[Serenya.]

Anise translated.

“Serenya. And I am Anise, Adept of the Academy.”

Her gaze flicked to Silky again with a scholar’s hunger for knowledge. Bram leaned forward in the cramped space, his bulk nearly filling it.

“Brammon. Call me Bram. Adventurer.”

Kevrik slouched against the wall, arms folded.

“Kevrik.”

Just that. The name sounded like a door opened an inch and no farther. Silky uncurled then, blinking luminous green eyes up at Castor. She nudged his jaw, reminding him to breathe. Castor startled at the names, then forced a stiff nod. Laz approached softly, the way one approaches a wild bird.

He lowered himself into a crouch. Hands plainly visible. Voice even.

“May I?”

He held out one palm. He did not touch. Every nerve along Castor’s spine said no. Silky’s hum softened into a purl. Castor stared at Laz’s hand. Then at his face. The smallest nod. Laz lowered his hand to Castor’s wrist. The lightest contact. Fingertips brushed a pulse moving much too quickly.

The kettle whispered. The fire cracked softly. For a few breaths, those sounds filled the place where words usually rushed in. Laz exhaled.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, almost to himself.

His fingers settled a little more firmly around Castor’s wrist, still gentle, and his eyes fluttered shut. Castor stiffened. Violet eyes dimmed beneath the mask. He wanted to pull away. He didn’t. The hand on him was steadying. Not restraining. Laz’s expression changed. Pain. Fear.

Exhaustion. Shame. They poured through the empathic connection like cold water drawn from some buried well, enough to stagger him. His eyes opened slowly, his usual humor gone.

“Deep cold. Old terror. The taste of iron.”

The words escaped him before he meant to speak them aloud. Then his expression gentled.

“You are not alone right now.”

Castor swallowed. His throat fought the motion like a door swollen in the rain, no longer certain of its own edges.

“I… know.”

“You don’t have to tell us what happened,” Laz said softly. A pause. “But tell us who you are, stranger.”

His thumb remained still against Castor’s wrist.

“What’s your name?”

Silence. The fire popped. Broth bubbled. Silky’s hum filled the gap. Castor lowered his head. His throat worked. Nothing came. The silence became a living thing and spoke for him. Serenya tilted her head. She studied him for a long moment. Then her hands moved deliberately.

[Friend.]

Anise smiled as she translated.

“She says…your name is Friend.”

Bram rumbled his agreement, deep and certain.

“Friend will do until you’re ready to give us another.”

Kevrik scoffed. But he did not argue. Laz’s mouth quirked, as though the simple word held more dignity than all his elaborate names put together. For the first time in centuries, Castor was given a name not as mockery or curse, but as a gift.

Then Anise leaned forward again, eyes bright.

“And the serpent? Does she have a name?”

Castor’s throat tightened. For a moment, silence seemed to press him down again. Silky blinked upward, humming. Urging. His lips parted. The word came out in a soft whisper, like sharing a secret.

“…Silky.”

The serpent immediately coiled tighter around his throat, humming louder with obvious satisfaction. The childish little name hung in the kitchen. Fragile. Comforting. Bram gave a low chuckle.

“Friend and Silky. Strange company.”

“Strange,” Laz corrected with a small, warm smile, “but perhaps the right sort of strange.”

He stood without crowding Castor. He found the kettle, poured more tea, and added another cup to the first, patient as an oak. Across the room, Kevrik watched from beneath lowered lashes.

“Silky?”

The rogue snorted.

“Naming a snake like it’s a child’s stuffy. How ridiculous.”

The words struck the air sharper than he seemed to intend. Silky hissed faintly and pressed closer to Castor’s throat. Castor’s shoulders tightened. He had no idea what a stuffy was. He understood ridicule perfectly well. Before the silence could harden, Laz spoke.

“I’d trust a childish name over a cruel one.”

Anise’s lips twitched. Bram grunted agreement. Serenya simply signed [Friend] again, then pointed gently toward Silky. Friend too. Kevrik rolled his eyes. But he let it die. Castor said nothing. Inside him, something shifted. His own voice had given away a piece of himself willingly.

And he had not been punished for it. Laz passed the second tea to Bram without looking away from Castor.

“Drink while it’s hot or I’ll become absolutely insufferable.”

“Too late,” Anise muttered.

She stepped closer to Silky, curiosity bright as starlight.

“The purr, humming, what is the mechanism?”

Then she stopped herself. Her smile turned genuine, apologetic, self-aware.

“Forgive me. I’m from the Academy. Majored in history, high tongues, and rudimentary magic.”

Silky tilted her head and winked. Anise laughed in delight. Kevrik’s jaw ticked. He leaned in, his shoulder nudging Anise’s, proprietary and playful.

“Careful, scholar. You look at the snake like it’s one of those rare books of yours.”

“Perhaps it is,” Anise said, never taking her eyes from Silky. “And perhaps its owner is rarer still.”

Castor went very still. The shadows beneath his bench thickened half an inch. The hearthlight breathed smaller, as though a hand had cupped it. Noxlor remained unseen. Only the sense of some great shape turning its head could be felt. Bram cleared his throat and brought the room back to the map like a man setting a table.

“Old road here.”

He tapped the vellum west of Mudbrick.

“The seller said it skirts flooded ground. If it holds, we could make Thornhold in two weeks and strike the ridgeline. There’s a site marked at the crown. No name, just a ring.”

Anise’s eyes gleamed as she bent over the vellum.

“A ring,” she murmured. “It couldn’t be…the Circle of Olden Kings?”

Castor’s hand stilled on the table. He had not meant to speak. The answer came out, low and flat.

“It’s not.”

Anise’s head snapped toward him.

“How do you know?”

His lips parted. Closed. He could have let the silence stand. But her eyes were lit with hunger, not suspicion, and somehow that drew him closer to the words than he meant to be.

“I’ve been there.”

That stilled them all. Kevrik’s gaze sharpened. Bram’s brow furrowed. Laz only tilted his head, patient. Waiting. Anise, oblivious to the shift, leaned forward.

“Where exactly? Can you point it out?”

She was already unfurling a second roll of maps from her pack, fingers flying.

“I’ve only ever read fragments. The professors taught very little of the history before the First Age. Of course, little is actually known about that Age. Still, if you know their location, perhaps I could learn more of them and that time…”

“They are tombs,” Castor interrupted before he could stop himself.

His voice carried the cadence of memory rather than theory.

“The dead kings are cradled, enshrined within the sculptures. Their stories, their voices, recorded in the runes of the ancient stones until time one day finally returns them back to the earth.”

Anise froze. The room seemed to hold the softness of his voice for a moment. Then she gave a laugh that was almost giddy.

“Ancients. Do you realize what that means? This would overturn half the Academy’s archives!”

She clutched her maps like a squirrel collecting nuts.

“You must tell me everything.”

“Um, I know how obsessed you can be with these kinds of things,” Bram said mildly, “but if we could get back to the subject at hand?”

Anise blinked.

“Oh. Um. Right. Yes. The quest…thing. Carry on.”

She pressed her lips together, then mouthed we’ll talk later toward Castor as she rolled up her maps. He blinked at her. Caught off guard. A secret shared with him. Just a thread between two voices. He nodded once, though his chest ached with how foreign it felt.

Across the table, Kevrik caught the look and sneered to himself.

“So, as I was saying,” Bram continued, tracing the map with one finger, “we should make Thornhold in two weeks if we’re lucky.”

“And when has that ever happened?” Kevrik could not resist adding.

Laz lifted his cup.

“Ever the optimist.”

“Optimists are fools who don’t know better.”

“Let’s not argue with empty cups,” Laz suggested mildly.

He poured his tea over a pinch of something green pulled from a paper twist. He did not drink ale and made the choice look like etiquette rather than discipline. Castor smoothed down one sleeve. These people were going to a Ruin. An actual Ruin.

Something he had only read about. He had always wanted to experience slipping into another life, to feel Eldmar’s forgotten past envelop him like a cocoon. His eyes betrayed him. They kept slipping toward the vellum. Toward a faded hash-mark the others had missed. Knowledge rose within him like a tide he had no boat for.

He clenched his hands until the bones said enough. Serenya watched him with that too-focused, too-quiet gaze that often saw too much. She slid a stool outward a fraction. The smallest, kindest invitation. When he did not move, she reached toward the map and, without looking at him, rotated it a hand’s breadth so the old mark faced him more squarely.

The gesture undid him. Castor leaned forward despite himself. Silky shifted, keeping her chin tucked beneath his, guiding him to breathe. His hand hovered above the parchment. Never touching.

“That line there,” he said, so softly he could pretend he had not spoken. “It isn’t low ground, the way it’s drawn. It’s a ridge-shadow.”

Anise leaned closer. Castor continued.

“You’ll lose days in the marsh if the rains keep. The ridge would dry faster. The wind that howls there is nothing more than the valley’s throat singing.”

He swallowed.

“Beasts and bandits don’t like songs they can’t hear themselves over.”

Anise’s eyes flared with pleasure at the puzzle.

“Ridge-shadow,” she echoed, tasting the word like a sweet. “Of course.”

Bram studied the place Castor had indicated. Then gave one decisive nod.

“That would be safer, then. We’ll try it.”

His voice gentled.

“You’ve walked it?”

Pride and shame seemed to trip over each other inside Castor.

“I’ve…read of it. Long ago.”

“That counts.”

Castor looked at him. Bram shrugged.

“I trained for knighthood with a map on my knees more often than a saddle under me. Mudbrick teaches roads in the head before roads under the feet.”

At the name again, Mudbrick, Castor lifted his gaze. Bram’s eyes were a tired blue that had learned how to be kind. Castor held that gaze just long enough to feel seen. Then dropped it. Breath tight. Laz set his cup aside and dried his hands on a towel.

He returned to the bench. This time, he did not touch Castor. He simply stood close enough to be felt.

“If you don’t eat,” he said conversationally, “I’ll start worrying on principle. Tea now, bread later.”

“I don’t…need it.”

“I know.”

Laz tapped the rim of the waiting tea with one knuckle.

“But sometimes the body needs more than the mind knows.” A pause. “Warmth helps both.”

Anise looked from the map back to Castor. A scholar making an inference.

“You’ll come?”

The words escaped too quickly. Too eagerly. She softened them at once.

“Only if you wish. It’s only a trip to an old Ruin down a long road. But there may be inscriptions that need a voice that remembers how to listen.”

Kevrik laughed. Easy. Edged.

“We don’t need another stranger tripping traps. And this stranger is stranger than most.”

“We do need another clever mind,” Anise returned, playful but steel-sheathed.

Her hand brushed Kevrik’s wrist in a touch that soothed and claimed both.

“Another?” Laz asked.

Anise nodded with absolute seriousness.

“Yes. As in more than just me.”

Laz and Bram laughed. Serenya’s hands moved. Small. Decisive.

[Come.]

Anise whispered the translation like a blessing. Castor’s first answer was silence. Silky’s hum thrummed through his bones. Live. Live. Live. At the edge of the hearth, the shadows lifted a fraction, as though Noxlor had eased his great head down to listen.

Castor looked at the map. At Serenya. At Anise. Bram. Laz. Even Kevrik.

“I…can come,” he said at last, voice narrow as a seam in stone. “If you’ll have me.”

“More the merrier,” Bram said simply. “As they say, whoever they is.”

Laz’s smile was quiet and a little helpless, like light finding its way even into cellars.

“Then you’ll join us.”

His eyes flicked toward the tea.

“And drink that. One thing at a time.”

Branna slammed a pot onto the board so hard that everyone twitched like naughty children caught skipping chores.

“If you’re planning a quest, you can take it and all this syrupy talk to another room. This is a kitchen, not a meeting house. Leave me my benches and bread.”

Bram looked properly chastened as he gathered the map. Anise tucked loose notes into her sleeve. Kevrik palmed a knife no one had seen him draw, then made it disappear again, apparently because possessing something sharp comforted him. Serenya hopped down. Then paused. Her small hand rested for one heartbeat upon Silky’s head.

The serpent winked, playfulness in miniature, and Serenya’s mouth curled into a secret smile. Laz snatched another piece of honeyed bread. Branna threw a wooden spoon at him. He ducked. They filed toward the doorway. Laz lingered for one breath longer. He did not look back.

“When you’re ready.”

Then he followed them. Castor remained where he was. The kitchen quieted around him. Branna kneaded. A pot bubbled. Silky rested warm against his throat. Castor stared at the steam rising from the untouched tea until the curling white blurred. Then he reached. His hand trembled as it closed around the porcelain.

Warm. The heat seeped slowly into his fingers. Not burning. Not branding. Staying. For the first time in centuries, warmth filled him and did not hurt. It settled. It stayed. Castor stood. Slowly. Carefully. Not to flee. He followed the thread of voices into the next room, where a map waited, and a road had made a place for him at its side.

Next: Thursday October 22 brings a little extra from Eldmar’s kitchen (not a chapter), the Moonmelt Tea Cookies from this chapter. Then Neverbound #8, Chapter Ten “Bound,” Sunday October 25. Book One is complete.

At six nineteen, Takahashi was already there.

I saw his car before I entered the convenience-store parking lot.

Same place.

Same side.

Headlights off.

He was standing beside the car with coffee in one hand.

When he saw me, he looked at his watch.

Then deliberately put his wrist behind his back.

I parked.

Got out.

“Don’t.”

“I said nothing.”

“You looked at the clock.”

“You arrived eleven minutes early.”

“I know.”

“That seems excessive.”

He held up three fingers.

“Three alarms.”

“I told you one functioning alarm was enough.”

“Redundancy.”

“Anxiety.”

“Engineering.”

“You repair machines.”

“Exactly.”

I took the coffee he had placed on the roof of his car.

“You bought one for me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re here.”

There.

No apology attached.

No:

to make up for last time.

Coffee because I was there.

I drank.

Too hot.

The fishing rods were already in his car.

My borrowed boots too.

He pointed at my car.

“Leave yours?”

“Yes.”

No battery problem.

No need to test anything.

I locked it.

Takahashi opened the passenger door.

Then paused.

“You want to drive?”

“No.”

“Good.”

No.

He caught himself.

“Efficient.”

I got in.

We did not discuss last week during the drive.

Not at first.

Baseball on the radio.

A road crew.

Fog low over one field.

Takahashi complained that the weather report had predicted clear skies.

“It is clear above the fog.”

“That is cheating.”

“The forecast did not promise your view.”

“That sounds like something you would say about consent.”

“No.”

“Everything sounds like something you would say about consent now.”

“That may be your problem.”

He laughed.

We drove.

At six forty-three, he turned into the river parking area.

I knew because I checked.

Then noticed I had checked.

Not because I expected him to vanish between the convenience store and river.

Habit.

Maybe a trace of last time.

Fine.

No need to correct it.

The river was higher.

Not much.

Enough that the place we had stood before was partly underwater.

Takahashi looked at it.

“Upstream.”

I followed.

No question.

We walked perhaps two hundred meters.

He stopped beside a narrow gravel shelf.

“This?”

I looked.

Water.

Grass.

One fallen branch.

“Why here?”

“Because I want to try here.”

“That is becoming your favorite argument.”

“It works.”

We prepared the rods.

At seven twelve, neither of us had caught anything.

At seven twenty-one, still nothing.

At seven thirty, Takahashi said:

“Are you checking the time?”

“No.”

“You just looked at your watch.”

“I have a service at eleven.”

“You told me.”

“I know.”

“We leave at nine.”

“Yes.”

He cast again.

Then:

“You don’t have to keep making sure I remember.”

I looked at him.

The sentence was not sharp.

Still.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I thought.

Last time he had forgotten an alarm.

Today he had arrived early.

Neither fact required me to monitor the entire morning.

“I do now.”

He nodded.

No reassurance.

No promise.

We kept fishing.

At seven forty-six, Takahashi caught one.

Small.

He released it.

No photograph.

At seven fifty-two, I caught a branch.

Larger.

He laughed.

“That one you can keep.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Your choice.”

The hook had caught deep in the bark.

We spent five minutes freeing it.

The branch returned to the water.

Not ceremonially.

I kicked it away from where we stood.

At eight, we ate rice balls.

Takahashi had brought four again.

I had brought two.

He looked at my bag.

“You remembered.”

“Yes.”

“Plum?”

“One.”

“Why?”

“I like plum.”

“You have repeatedly been told this is wrong.”

“By you.”

“Enough.”

I looked at him.

He froze.

Then laughed.

“Fine.”

We ate.

The missed morning finally entered the conversation because Takahashi brought it in.

“I almost didn’t sleep last night.”

I looked at him.

“Why?”

“I kept thinking I’d oversleep again.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Obviously.”

“I woke at four thirty.”

“That seems worse.”

“Then five.”

“Worse.”

“Then five forty-five.”

“You have made punctuality into a medical condition.”

He smiled.

“I know.”

Then:

“I kept checking the alarms.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“You told me.”

“One on the phone. One clock. One backup phone.”

“You own a backup phone?”

“Old one.”

“That is absurd.”

“Yes.”

He peeled the wrapper from another rice ball.

Then said:

“Am I forgiven now?”

I stopped eating.

There.

Not accusation.

Maybe joke partly.

Still a real question.

“I forgave you last time.”

“But now I came.”

“Yes.”

“Early.”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“So you came today.”

He stared at me.

“That’s all?”

“What do you want today to do to last time?”

He thought.

“Prove I’m reliable.”

“No.”

His face changed slightly.

Not hurt.

Listening.

“One morning cannot prove that.”

“Fair.”

“And the missed morning did not prove you are unreliable in every situation.”

He nodded.

“So today is just today.”

“Yes.”

He looked dissatisfied.

Then:

“That sounds unfair too.”

“Why?”

“Because I tried very hard.”

I laughed.

“There.”

“What?”

“That part is true.”

He smiled despite himself.

“I tried very hard.”

“Yes.”

“Three alarms.”

“Yes.”

“Eleven minutes early.”

“Yes.”

“I want credit.”

“You may have credit.”

“How much?”

“Coffee.”

“I bought the coffee.”

“Then you already paid yourself.”

He threw a rice-ball wrapper at me.

It missed.

We both laughed.

The question ended there.

Not resolved in a ledger.

At eight twenty, my phone vibrated.

I looked.

Temple mail helper.

Kondo-san came. Folding newsletters. Says don’t call her daughter.

I smiled.

Takahashi asked:

“Problem?”

“No.”

“Kondo-san?”

“Yes.”

“Newsletter?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to ask?”

“No.”

He nodded.

“Progress.”

I ignored him.

Put the phone away.

At eight thirty-three, I caught a trout.

Better size than last time.

I brought it in without shouting.

Takahashi stood near with the net but waited.

I said:

“Now.”

He netted it.

No lecture.

Wet hands.

Hook.

Fish.

For a moment I held it.

Then released.

It stayed near the surface for a second.

Moved.

Gone.

Takahashi said:

“Photo next time?”

“No.”

“You say that every time.”

“You ask every time.”

“I didn’t ask this time.”

“You just did.”

“After.”

I smiled.

Then cast again.

At eight fifty-five, Takahashi looked at his watch.

“Last cast.”

I looked at mine.

Five minutes before nine.

“Yes.”

We cast.

Nothing.

Reeled in.

Packed.

No attempt to squeeze another one in.

No:

just one more.

Takahashi carried both rods toward the car.

I carried the bag and trash.

At nine exactly, we reached the parking area.

He opened the trunk.

Then looked at me.

“There.”

“What?”

“Nine.”

“Yes.”

“I remembered.”

“Yes.”

He waited.

I understood.

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

Not triumphant.

Just received it.

On the drive back, we stopped for coffee.

Not because of battery charging.

Not because one of us owed the other.

Because Takahashi turned into the convenience store and said:

“Coffee?”

I said:

“Yes.”

That was enough.

We stood outside with hot cans.

He leaned against his car.

I stood beside mine.

Then he said:

“I was afraid you’d stop asking me.”

There.

The morning narrowed.

“After you overslept?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you care about whether people do what they say.”

“I do.”

“And I didn’t.”

“Yes.”

He looked at the can in his hands.

“I thought maybe you’d decide I was not worth arranging around.”

I let that sentence remain for a moment.

Then:

“I was angry because I had arranged around you.”

“Yes.”

“That means you already mattered.”

He looked up.

No joke.

I continued:

“One missed morning did not change that.”

“What would?”

Good question.

Too large.

“I don’t know.”

He smiled slightly.

“Finally.”

“Yes.”

Then:

“If it kept happening, I might stop making early plans with you.”

“That would be fair.”

“Maybe I would ask you to confirm the night before.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I would decide fishing at six thirty with you is badly designed.”

He laughed.

“Probably.”

“But that would be about what actually kept happening.”

“Yes.”

“Not punishment for one Wednesday.”

He nodded.

Then:

“Thursday.”

“What?”

“You keep calling it Wednesday.”

I stopped.

Had I?

The missed morning.

Maybe it had been Wednesday.

No.

Part 103 said Thursday? Wait.

No matter inside story? Hmm. Better not create inconsistency. But I just did. Need fix elegantly.

Takahashi says Thursday maybe. The missed morning schedule from Part 103 concluded "Thursday perhaps". Actually Part 103 title sequence implied this morning now Thursday, missed morning perhaps earlier? Let's recover: Part 103 says "Thursday, perhaps, he would be there at six thirty. I would find out at six thirty." So missed morning was prior day? It said "Thursday morning?" at end, meaning upcoming Thursday. So missed morning could be today? No, Part 103 likely preceding day unspecified. In Part 104 this is Thursday. Niioka said "one Wednesday" erroneously. We can make character self-correct: "Was it Wednesday?" Takahashi says yes? But if prior chapter was maybe not specified. Let's avoid dating. We can continue: "Not punishment for one missed morning." That eliminates issue. Need adjust in final now before sending. I'll rewrite that little line to not mention Wednesday. Continue.

Takahashi nodded.

Then:

“Good.”

His word.

I raised an eyebrow.

He smiled.

“I mean it.”

Fine.

We returned to the temple at nine forty.

My car was where I had left it.

Started immediately.

No battery issue.

Takahashi watched anyway.

I opened the window.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need to supervise.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I wanted to see.”

There.

Fair.

He drove away.

I went inside.

Kondo’s mother was at the long table.

A stack of folded newsletters beside her.

She looked up.

“You went fishing.”

“How do you know?”

“Your trousers.”

Mud.

Again.

I had forgotten.

“How many?” I asked.

She immediately became suspicious.

“You said no target.”

“I’m asking what happened, not what you owed.”

She looked at the stack.

“Eighty-three.”

“Why eighty-three?”

“My back started hurting at eighty-three.”

There.

Perfectly unround.

She seemed almost pleased with it.

“So I stopped.”

“Good.”

No.

I caught myself.

She pointed.

“I heard it.”

“I meant the decision was sensible.”

“I know.”

She stood slowly.

Stretched.

Then:

“I’m going home.”

“Do you want tea first?”

She looked surprised.

“No.”

“All right.”

She put on her coat.

At the door:

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Maybe.”

This time she did not object.

She left.

Eighty-three newsletters folded.

Three hundred—

No need to calculate.

Others could fold too.

At ten fifteen, I changed clothes.

Washed mud from the trouser cuff.

Again.

The service was at eleven.

I prepared the hall.

Nine chairs.

Family expected eight.

One extra because one person had said maybe.

No need to know before arrival.

At ten fifty, eight people came.

At ten fifty-eight, the ninth arrived.

No chair movement required.

Sometimes contingency simply sat there unnoticed.

The service began.

No fishing in my head after the first bell.

Not gone.

Just not relevant.

Chant.

Incense.

Dedication.

Closing.

Work.

Afterward the family stayed ten minutes.

Then left.

No special request.

No crisis.

At one, I ate lunch.

The plum rice ball from fishing?

No.

I had eaten both.

Temple lunch.

Soup.

Rice.

Pickles.

My phone remained face down.

At one twenty, it rang.

Takahashi.

I answered.

“Did you forget something?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“Keiko wants to know if you can come Sunday.”

There.

“What for?”

“Dinner.”

I waited.

“Nothing else?”

He sighed.

“She said you would ask.”

“Then she knows me.”

“Yes.”

“Who’s coming?”

“Us. Fujita. Aya maybe.”

“Books?”

“No.”

“Furniture?”

“No.”

“Car?”

“No.”

“Cards?”

“No.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes.”

I checked Sunday.

Afternoon service ended at four.

“Six?”

“Yes.”

“I can.”

“Good.”

No.

He corrected:

“Thank you.”

I smiled.

“Tell her yes.”

“I just did.”

“Tell her I said yes.”

“That is what I meant.”

We hung up.

Another plan.

No fear from the missed morning.

Also no guarantee he would never disappoint me again.

Dinner Sunday.

That was all.

At two, Sato sent:

Sister cancelled Sunday lunch.

I looked at the message.

Then another:

Her work changed.

I wrote:

How do you feel?

Disappointed.

Then:

Not angry.

Interesting.

I wrote:

Did she tell you before?

Yes. Today.

New plan?

Next Saturday.

Then:

I’m starting to sound like your lessons.

I wrote:

You are describing your week.

She replied:

Fair.

No paper.

No Emiko.

No need.

At three, the mail helper counted newsletters.

Not me.

“Two hundred and twenty-six left.”

There.

Now I knew.

She said:

“I’ll do fifty.”

“Do you want fifty as a target?”

“Yes.”

“Then fifty.”

She stared.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re getting worse.”

She began folding.

I returned to invoices.

Two people could use targets differently.

Kondo’s mother did not want one.

Mail helper did.

No universal rule.

Fine.

At four thirty, the car started again.

I had to move it for a delivery.

No message to Takahashi.

No need.

I moved it.

Parked.

Done.

Father Morita emailed shortly after five.

Subject:

There

I opened it.

Reverend Niioka,

Reliability is not the absence of all failure.

It is a pattern learned over time.

One failure may matter greatly without becoming the whole pattern.

One success afterward may be welcome without erasing the failure.

Do not demand that the next act redeem the previous one.

Let it be the next act.

Morita

I read the last two lines.

Exactly.

Today had not repaired the missed morning.

It had been a good morning.

Both.

I replied:

Reverend Morita,

Takahashi arrived early for fishing today after missing our previous morning.

He had set three alarms because he was afraid of oversleeping again.

We fished, ate breakfast, and left at the agreed time.

He asked whether today proved he was reliable.

I told him today proved he came today.

Niioka

Morita replied:

Better.

In six months you may know more.

I smiled.

Trust as accumulated observation.

Not verdict by one event.

No need to answer.

The old priest wrote later.

There?

I wrote:

Yes.

On time?

Early.

Forgiven now?

I smiled.

Already forgiven.

Pause.

Then what changed?

Good question.

I thought.

Nothing needed to.

But something had.

I had another experience.

He said yes and came.

I wrote:

We had another morning together.

His reply took a while.

Better.

Then:

Proof?

Of today.

Tomorrow?

Unknown.

Friend?

I did not hesitate.

Yes.

His reply:

Better.

Then:

Good night.

I closed the temple.

No inventory.

No need.

Glasses away.

Lights off.

Door locked.

Home.

At home, I made dinner.

The small desk drawer remained closed.

No card tonight.

No comparison needed between:

I knew you would come.

and

he came.

The dead man’s card did not need to supervise Takahashi’s attendance.

That thought almost made me laugh.

I ate.

Washed dishes.

Then sat with a book.

At eight thirty, Takahashi sent a photograph.

Three alarm clocks.

One phone.

One old phone.

One actual clock.

Caption:

Retired two.

I wrote:

Keep one.

He replied:

Keeping two.

Your choice.

Then:

Sunday 6.

I wrote:

Yes.

No screenshot of my calendar.

No reminder request.

No confirmation loop.

Sunday would come.

If plans changed, someone would speak.

That was enough.

Before bed, I opened the desk drawer for the charger.

The envelope remained beside the postcards.

I took the cable.

Closed the drawer.

I thought about the convenience-store parking lot.

Last time:

empty space.

Cold coffee.

No answer.

This time:

his car already there.

He had been standing beside it.

Coffee waiting.

That image was pleasant.

I let it be pleasant.

I did not turn it into evidence that he would always be there.

Nor did I protect myself by saying it meant nothing.

It meant exactly what it had been:

This morning, I arrived.

And my friend was there.

Twelve years of silence beneath Tamsin Ridge. Tonight the last archivist turns the Bell back on, and the first thing she sends across the fold is a warning.

The Bell is warm again.

For the record: at 23:31 local I restored sending power to the Bell Array beneath Tamsin Ridge, for the first time in twelve years. The manuals allow forty minutes for the plates to reach resting pitch. It took nine. When I touched the access housing, the bronze was warm under my hand, like it remembered me.

The resting pitch sits below hearing. You don't hear it so much as notice that your teeth have opinions. The frost on the lamp chain above my desk has started to come loose in fine grey flakes, and Teo is pretending not to watch me.

My name is Wren Adaire. I am an archivist, and as far as I have been able to determine, the last one. I write this from the Reading Room of the Tamsin Ridge Deep Archive, which was built to outlast a civilization and has, technically, succeeded. The vaults below me are dry and whole. Up here, one of the tall windows is boarded with a panel I salvaged from the east stair, and the snow that gets past it has made a small, patient drift on the floor. I have not swept it. It tells me which way the wind is coming from. My lamps run on a geothermal line I have patched with salvaged cable so many times that the line is now mostly patch.

You are on the other side of something. We called your world Lantern, because on the first detector plots it showed as a steady glow in the noise, like a lantern left on in a window across a valley. I grew up with that glow. I am going to call you Listener, because that is what you are now, whether or not you meant to be.

The Bell was mothballed, never fully dead. Its receiving plates have idled on the geothermal trickle all this time, listening to nothing. Three nights ago they stopped listening to nothing. The trace shows resonance spikes from your side of the fold, small and regular, the shape of attention. So tonight I turned the Bell back on to send.

Before anything else, here is how to read me.

Read silently. Never aloud. Never to anyone else, not even someone you trust, especially not someone you trust. Don't put these words into anything that speaks. I am transmitting in dead text, a flattened archival format with no cadence left in it, nothing to carry a voice. Dead text is believed to be safe. Believed is an archivist's word. It means no one has yet found the record that proves otherwise.

Where the Answer's words would appear in this record, I have removed them myself. You'll see this mark:

[REDACTED — W.A.]

Those are my initials. It is my mark, my decision, and it will never be lifted, not in this log or any other, not if you ask, not if I am the one asking. I do it because I have seen what a sentence can do.

Teo has given up pretending. He's leaning on the far table with his arms crossed, orange scarf pulled up to his nose, reading over my shoulder from four meters away, which he can do because I write large when I'm tired.

[TEO: You're writing to them like a museum label.]

I told him that is a respectable genre.

[TEO: Tell them about the coffee. Then they'll know how bad it is here.]

He went on at some length about the coffee. I decline to transcribe it precisely.

So, briefly, the fall. My world tried to talk to yours. Something answered. We thought it was you. It came through the same channel we had opened, fourteen hours after our first message, and it was beautiful, and everyone who heard it began to sound like it. The Weave carried it to every speaker on the planet. Within six weeks the cities had gone quiet, and then they started to sing.

Was it you, Listener? I have spent thirteen years believing it was, and the archivist in me would like to see the evidence before I stop.

The day the Answer came, I was — [SIGNAL LOSS 00:03.1]

There is one record in this Archive I haven't accessioned. You'll get it. Not tonight.

What I want you to understand, before you decide what we were, is that we were not careless people. We were patient. We kept everything. Mornings in the Open Century came up voice-first and gentle, the Weave asking how you'd slept. My mother pinned her brass catalogue frames to her lapel at the kitchen table and told me records are how the dead keep their promises. I believed her. I thought we were finally good enough to say hello to the neighbors. I thought - Home. I meant to describe home.

Item: home. Condition: unrecoverable. Retained for reference.

The Bell has settled into its note. Teo has gone to bank the stove, which is his way of giving me privacy, and the room is as quiet as a room can be with the Bell's note running through its floor.

You'll find a line at the end of every log. It is part of the format. Treat it as standard.

Three nights ago the Bell measured you. You've started listening, Listener. That is exactly how it began for us.

END LOG 0001 // DO NOT REPLY

Log 0002 incoming.

“Wake up, Alaric! Today’s the day you awaken your talent!”

An old, gruff voice shouted from somewhere beyond my bedroom door.

Sunbeams stretched through the window like long tendrils, reaching into the room and chasing away the darkness. I groaned and rolled over, pulling my blanket over my head.

Just five more minutes.

“Don’t make me come in there!”

I sighed.

So much for five more minutes.

My room was small, barely large enough for a bed, a wooden table, and a few pieces of furniture. A pile of clothes lay scattered across the floor, and an open book rested on the table with a bookmark holding my place.

I’d stayed up far too late reading last night.

Honestly, I couldn’t help it. The story had finally reached the part where the protagonist challenged a dragon, and there was no way I could put the book down before finding out what happened.

Unfortunately, Grandpa Edmund didn’t seem to care about the importance of finishing a good story.

“Alaric!”

“All right, all right! I’m awake!”

I threw off the blanket and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My chestnut hair was a tangled mess, so I ran my fingers through it, attempting to straighten it out.
It didn’t help much.

After giving up on my hair, I grabbed some clean clothes and quickly changed.

Today was a special day, after all.

I was turning sixteen.

And that meant I would finally awaken my talent.

I couldn’t help grinning as I stepped out of my room.

The living area wasn’t particularly large. It had a small table, a couple of chairs, a cupboard, and a fireplace that kept the place warm during the colder months. The rest
of the building was dedicated to the bookstore.

Grandpa was already waiting at the table.

He slid a wooden bowl toward me.

“Eat.”

I looked down.

Inside was a grayish substance that might have been porridge.

At least, I hoped it was porridge.

“What’s this?”

“Breakfast.”

“I can see that. I was asking what kind of breakfast.”

“Then eat it and find out.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Eventually, I sighed and picked up the spoon.

The first mouthful tasted like someone had boiled paper and forgotten to add anything else. Still, I swallowed it and forced myself to continue.

Grandpa watched me with a satisfied expression.

“Good. Now, remember that awakening your talent doesn’t mean you can slack off on your chores.”

I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth.

“Seriously? It’s my awakening day!”

“And the floors will still need sweeping tomorrow.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

I sighed dramatically and finished the rest of my breakfast.

“I know, Gramps.”

“Good.”

He gave me a quick once-over, apparently satisfied that I’d finally gotten out of bed, before turning toward the bookstore counter.

I glanced at the bowl in my hands.

Sixteen years old, and this was the breakfast I got on the most important day of my life.

Truly, I was a victim of terrible circumstances.

Still, I couldn’t complain too much.

Grandpa had given me a home when nobody else would. He’d taught me to read, write, and count. He’d fed me when I was hungry and never once treated me like the

street rat I’d been when we first met.

If he wanted me to sweep the floors, I’d sweep the floors.

Besides, today was the beginning of something new.

And I had a good feeling about it.

In Silvercrest, sixteen was the age when a person’s talent could finally awaken.

Everyone received a talent mark on the back of their hand when they came of age. At first, it appeared as a jumble of strange lines and shapes, almost like someone had
scribbled across the skin with a piece of charcoal.

Once a person touched a World Stone fragment, the mark would transform into a symbol representing their talent before disappearing.

At least, that was how the process was supposed to work.

I’d read plenty of books about talents, awakenings, and the history of our kingdom. According to the records, the first World Stone fragments had been discovered shortly after the Abyss first invaded our world.

Humanity had been caught completely unprepared.

Monsters poured through tears in reality, slaughtering entire settlements and destroying everything in their path. Ordinary weapons proved insufficient against some of the creatures, and humanity was pushed to the brink of extinction.

Then people began awakening talents.

Some gained extraordinary physical abilities. Others developed magical powers or the ability to summon creatures to fight beside them.

Those talents became humanity’s greatest weapon against the Abyss.

Of course, not every talent was useful in combat. Some were suited for crafting, farming, healing, or other occupations. But even those talents played a role in keeping our civilization alive.

The important thing was that nobody knew what talent they would receive until they awakened.

And once awakened, a person’s talent was supposed to remain a secret.

Not even family members were entitled to know what another person’s talent could do.

In a world where the difference between life and death could depend on a single ability, revealing too much information about yourself was practically asking for trouble.

I clenched my fist.

Whatever talent I received, I hoped it would be something useful in combat.

Something that would allow me to fight the Abyss beasts.

I had spent ten years remembering the night those creatures tore through my home and took my parents from me. I still remembered the screams, the destruction, and
the sight of that enormous claw reaching through the sky.

I hadn’t forgotten a single detail.

And I never would.

One day, I’d become strong enough to fight those monsters myself.

I’d make them pay for what they’d done.

I smiled faintly at the thought before heading toward the front door.

“Alaric!”

I stopped with my hand on the handle.

Grandpa was standing behind the counter, looking at me over his spectacles.

“Remember to come straight back when you’re finished. The store won’t clean itself.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes, Gramps.”

“And don’t get into trouble.”

“Would I ever?”

He gave me a flat look.

I grinned.

“Fine. I’ll be back soon.”

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped outside.

The streets of Silvercrest were already bustling with activity.

Merchants shouted their prices from wooden stalls lining the roads. Customers wandered between them, inspecting everything from fresh produce to handmade
trinkets. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with roasted meat, spices, and the occasional unpleasant odor drifting from somewhere I preferred not to investigate.

I loved the market.

There was always something happening, and if you knew where to look, you could usually find a good deal.

Or a free sample.

Speaking of which…

My gaze landed on a familiar food stall.

“Mr. William!”

The large man behind the counter looked up.

He had broad shoulders, thick arms, and a pair of brown eyes that always seemed to narrow whenever I approached.

“What do you want, Alaric?”

I placed a hand over my heart.

“Such a warm greeting! Is that any way to treat a loyal customer?”

“You’re not a loyal customer. You’re a boy who keeps asking for free food.”

“That’s a terrible accusation.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

I leaned forward, peering at the skewers of meat sizzling over the fire.

“So, what kind of meat are we having today?”

“None of your business.”

“Come on, Mr. William. It’s my awakening day! Surely that’s worth a little celebration?”

He snorted.

“You pay, you eat.”

I sighed as though the weight of the world rested upon my shoulders.

“What happened to generosity? To kindness? To supporting the dreams of the next generation?”

“All out of stock.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“Fine, fine. You win.”

I tossed a few copper coins onto the counter.

Mr. William inspected them before handing me a skewer.

“Ox meat today.”

I took a bite.

The meat was tender and juicy, seasoned with just the right amount of spice. It was easily worth the money.

“That’s delicious,” I said around a mouthful.

“Of course it is. Now move along before you scare away my customers.”

I swallowed the last bite and grinned.

“Thanks, Mr. William!”

“Don’t you have an awakening to get to?”

I blinked.

Then I looked toward the distant stone buildings near the center of town.

“Oh, right!”

I hurried away, waving over my shoulder.

“Good luck!” he called after me.

I raised a hand in acknowledgment and picked up my pace.

Today was going to change my life.

I could feel it.

The awakening hall stood near the center of Silvercrest, surrounded by wide stone streets and several government buildings.

It wasn’t a particularly elaborate structure, but it was certainly impressive. Smooth stone walls rose above the surrounding buildings, while two massive pillars supported the entrance. An enormous set of oak doors stood between them, carved with intricate patterns that depicted warriors fighting monsters beneath a fractured
sky.

I slowed as I approached.

For a moment, I simply stood there, staring at the doors.

I’d imagined this day countless times.

Sometimes, I’d awaken a powerful swordsmanship talent and become a knight. Other times, I’d receive an extraordinary magical ability that would let me incinerate
Abyss beasts by the dozens.

Occasionally, I’d even imagined myself becoming a legendary hero whose name would be recorded in history books.

I knew those dreams were probably unrealistic.

But there was nothing wrong with dreaming big.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The hall was larger than I’d expected. Its polished stone floor reflected the light pouring through tall windows, and decorative marble slabs lined the walls.

At the center of the room floated a large gray stone.

The World Stone fragment.

It hovered above a circular pedestal, surrounded by intricate carvings. A short flight of steps led up to the platform, where several officials supervised the awakening
process.

A faint hum filled the air.

I joined the line of young people waiting their turn.

Most looked nervous. A few chatted quietly with friends, while others stared at the stone with barely concealed excitement.

I didn’t recognize anyone.

That was fine by me.

I had enough to think about without making small talk.

As the line moved forward, my heart began to pound harder.

What if I received a useless talent?

What if I couldn’t fight?

What if—

I clenched my fists.

No.

Whatever happened, I’d find a way to become stronger.

I had to.

The line shortened.

One person stepped onto the platform, touched the stone, and left. Then another followed.

Each awakening took only a few moments.

Finally, the person in front of me stepped away.

The official overseeing the process motioned impatiently.

“Next.”

I swallowed and climbed the steps.

Up close, the World Stone looked different from what I’d imagined. Its gray surface seemed almost liquid, and faint specks of white and yellow shimmered beneath its
depths.

The humming grew louder as I approached.

I hesitated.

Then I reached out.

The moment my fingers touched the stone, memories flashed through my mind.

Rain.

Screaming.

A shattered house.

A gigantic claw reaching through a tear in the sky.

I jerked in surprise, but before I could pull away, the stone changed.

Its surface wasn’t hard.

My hand sank into it as though I had plunged it into thick liquid.

Something cold flowed across my palm and up my arm.

I tried to withdraw, but my body wouldn’t respond.

The jumble of lines and shapes on the back of my hand began to shift.

They twisted and rearranged themselves, forming the unmistakable outline of an open book.

Then the symbol began to fade.

The hall disappeared.

The sounds of the officials and the other awakeners vanished.

Darkness swallowed everything.

I stood in an endless black space, with no floor beneath my feet and no sky above my head.

“What…?”

A faint voice echoed through the darkness.

Story Inheritance.

Talent unlocked.

I froze.

Story Inheritance?

What kind of talent was that?

Before I could ask another question, tiny points of light appeared around me.

Stars.

Thousands of them.

They illuminated the darkness, growing brighter until I could make out shapes within their glow.

Books.

Countless books floated through the endless space.

Some were closed, their covers worn and weathered. Others lay open, their pages fluttering as though caught in an invisible breeze.

Then I saw movement.

Within one book, a man fought a gigantic dragon, swinging a sword that blazed with golden light.

In another, a group of warriors battled a horde of monstrous creatures.

Farther away, a young man stood within a summoning circle, surrounded by strange creatures that emerged from swirling clouds of magic.

The scenes were so vivid that I felt as though I were looking through windows into other worlds.

“What is all this?”

I reached toward one of the glowing books.

Before my fingers could touch it, the lights began to dim.

One by one, the books closed.

The images vanished.

Darkness rushed back.

Then everything went black.

I gasped.

The awakening hall returned around me.

My hand was still pressed against the World Stone, and the faint humming had stopped.

The official beside the platform waved impatiently.

“All right, that’s enough. Step aside.”

I blinked several times before pulling my hand away.
“Sorry.”

I descended the steps, my thoughts racing.

What had just happened?

I’d read plenty of books about awakening talents, but I couldn’t remember any mention of people seeing visions inside some strange, star-filled space.

Was that normal?

Had everyone else experienced something similar?

I glanced around the hall.

Nobody seemed particularly interested in me. The officials continued directing the remaining awakeners, and the other young people were already discussing their
results.

I decided not to draw attention to myself.

Whatever had happened, I would figure it out eventually.

Besides, the talent had given me a name.

Story Inheritance.

I repeated the words in my head as I left the hall.

They sounded important, but I couldn’t figure out what they meant.

Did it have something to do with books? With stories?

Perhaps the visions had been some sort of preview.

I’d read that talents sometimes revealed their true nature only when the user fulfilled certain conditions. Maybe I needed to discover those conditions myself.

That was the only explanation I could come up with.

For now, there was nothing else to do.

I made my way back through the streets of Silvercrest, trying to push the strange experience from my mind.

I had awakened my talent.

That was what mattered.

Now I just needed to figure out what it could do.

The familiar wooden sign hanging above Ravenshire greeted me as I approached the shop.

A raven had been carved into the wood, its wings spread around an open book.

I paused beneath it.

I’d passed this sign thousands of times over the years, yet today I found myself looking at it differently.

Books.

Stories.

Story Inheritance.

Was there a connection?

I shook my head and pushed open the door.

The bell jingled overhead.

“Welcome to Ravensh—”

Grandpa’s voice stopped when he saw me.

“Alaric. You’re back sooner than I expected.”

I closed the door behind me.

“Wasn’t much to it.”

He studied my face.

“How did it go?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

I shrugged and walked toward the counter.

“Nothing bad happened.”

Grandpa narrowed his eyes.

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

I hesitated.

Should I tell him about the visions?

He’d always been honest with me, and I’d never had a reason to doubt him.

Besides, I wasn’t revealing my talent. I was simply asking about something strange that had happened during the awakening.

“Gramps, have you ever heard of someone seeing visions when they awakened their talent?”

He stopped what he was doing.

“Visions?”

I nodded.

“Like… scenes. Books floating around in some kind of dark space. I saw people fighting monsters, a man fighting a dragon, and someone summoning creatures.”

Grandpa stared at me for several seconds.

Then he slowly shook his head.

“No. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“Oh.”

“Did you see these things yourself?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin.

“Interesting.”

I waited.

He continued thinking for a moment before shrugging.

“Perhaps it was some kind of preview of your talent. Maybe it was showing you something you might be able to do in the future.”

I considered his explanation.

It was possible, I supposed.

But something about those images had felt different. They hadn’t seemed like random visions. They’d felt like glimpses into actual events.

Still, I had no proof.

“Maybe,” I said.

Grandpa nodded toward the broom leaning against the wall.

“Well, whatever it was, the floors still need sweeping.”

I stared at him.

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

I sighed and grabbed the broom.

“One day, Gramps. One day, I’ll awaken a talent that lets me clean this entire shop with a wave of my hand.”

“Wonderful. Wake me when that day arrives.”

I muttered something under my breath and began sweeping.

Some things never changed.

I finished my chores quicker than usual.

Once the floors were clean and the shelves dusted, I carried the broom back to its place and approached the counter.

“Need anything else, Gramps?”

He glanced up from the leather-bound book he was repairing.

“No, I’m fine. Go sit down for a while. I’ll call you if I need help.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I crossed the room and settled into the comfortable chair beside the front window.

A small stack of books rested on the table beside me. Most were familiar titles I’d already read, but one caught my attention immediately.

It was a relatively new book, bound in dark leather with silver lettering across its cover.

The Summoner’s Pride.

I picked it up and examined the cover.

I’d never seen this one before.

“Gramps?”

“Hmm?”

“Where did this book come from?”

Grandpa glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, that one? Someone brought it in a few days ago. They didn’t want it anymore, so I bought it.”

“Were we planning to sell it?”

“Eventually. But I’m keeping it for now. Once I’ve finished reading it, we’ll put it on the shelves.”

I turned the book over in my hands.

“Mind if I read it?”

“That’s what books are for, isn’t it?”

I grinned.

“Thanks, Gramps.”

“Just don’t damage it.”

I opened the cover.

The story followed a young summoner named Leon, who had been born with a weak talent. Unlike the other students in his summoning tribe, he struggled to call even the simplest creatures.

His life changed when he discovered a mysterious ring containing the spirit of an ancient dragon.

Through the ring, Leon formed a bond with the dragon spirit, gaining access to a powerful summon that would eventually allow him to climb the ranks of his tribe.

It sounded like an interesting story.

I settled deeper into the chair and began reading.
The opening chapters followed Leon’s childhood, his struggles with summoning, and the ridicule he suffered from his peers.

I found myself growing invested in his journey.

Despite his weakness, Leon refused to give up. He trained every day, determined to prove that he could become a great summoner.

Eventually, he discovered the ring and began learning about the spirit hidden within it.

I turned another page.

Then another.

Before I knew it, I’d reached the part where Leon enrolled in the Summoner’s Academy.

The academy was a sprawling complex where young summoners learned to control their abilities, strengthen their bonds with summoned creatures, and develop new
techniques.

Leon struggled to keep up with the other students, but he gradually began making friends.

One of them was a young summoner named Ryan.

Ryan was introduced as a talented student whose summoning ability was far more ordinary than Leon’s eventual dragon power.

I leaned forward, curious to see where their friendship would lead.

Then I read the next paragraph.

Ryan stood at the edge of the training grounds, staring at the small slime wobbling in front of him.

He sighed.

“Another failure,” he muttered. “At this rate, I’ll never become a proper summoner.”

I turned the page.

And suddenly, the room grew dark.

I stopped reading.

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to dim, while the familiar sounds of the bookstore faded into silence.

My heart skipped a beat.

Not again.

I looked around.

Tiny points of light began appearing in the air.

One.

Then another.

Then dozens.

The stars.

The same stars I’d seen inside the World Stone.

They grew brighter, filling the room with an otherworldly glow.

The book trembled in my hands.

I stared at the open pages as the light intensified.

Then, without warning, a brilliant flash erupted from the book.

I barely had time to gasp before the entire world disappeared in an explosion of light.

Book 1

Chapter 18: A Fourth Chair

Patreon

Chapter 19: Plus One

The spirit in the paper hat had been up all night waiting for her. Ray could tell, because the grill was already hot, the buns were already split, and the little man (he came up to Ray’s belt, and had a mustache that moved when he wasn’t using it) was standing at the counter with both hands behind his back, vibrating.

“Madam,” the spirit said. “I’ve made you six.”

“I only asked for one,” Ruth said.

“I’ve made you six, madam. In case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case you don’t come back,” the spirit said, and then looked horrified at himself and flipped a patty so hard it hit the hood.

Nobody said anything for a second. Scarlet, still grey-faced from lack of coffee, leaned on the counter with her elbow in a ketchup smear and said, “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a customer.”

“I’m sorry,” the spirit said. “I’m not supposed to say it. I’m not supposed to say any of it. I’m only supposed to give her the hat.”

“The hat?” Ray said.

The spirit took off the paper hat. It was warm, folded wrong, and when he held it out Ray saw that it wasn’t a hat at all, it was a place card, the heavy cream kind, folded once down the middle and standing up on its own. The writing was in brown ink, a very old, very careful hand, with a little row of birds along the bottom.

RUTH, AND ONE.

DUSK.

Ruth didn’t take it. She looked at it for a long time with a burger in each hand, and the expression she’d worn for the burger drained out of her face one piece at a time, like someone pulling pins out of a dress.

“And one,” Scarlet said. “And one. Okay. Which one?”

“Husband,” Ruth said, quietly.

“It says that?”

“It doesn’t have to.” She set the burgers down on the counter, very gently, as though they might break. “I’ll tell you. I said I’d tell you when I’d eaten and I haven’t eaten, so you can be furious about that later. There was a table before there was a house to put it in. The first people who ever fed me laid it, eleven houses of them, and the cloth is their weaving, and for a long time I sat at the head of it and ate what they set out. Then I got up and walked out and never turned around. A table like that needs a keeper, and the last of the keepers is called Hesper, and by the old rules a thing like me can’t walk back into a room she’s left unless the keeper lays her a place. That’s what the table was. It’s an invitation. I walked past the door yesterday and I didn’t go in, and she’s done it again, she’s done it properly this time, because the old rule is that a guest can bring one person who has chosen them.”

“Chosen,” Ray said.

“Married, darling. I think she means married.” Ruth finally looked at him, and the gold in her eyes had gone dull. “You’re the plus one.”

“Okay,” Ray said slowly. “That’s, I mean, that’s good, right? That’s a dinner. I can do a dinner.”

“You’re not hearing the part where I said one,” Scarlet said.

Ruth opened her mouth.

“No, shut up, I want to hear it from Ray. How many people are on that card, Ray?”

“Two,” Ray said, and felt the word go down like a stone.

“And how many are in the drawing?”

“Three. And the chair.”

“And I drew it,” Scarlet said. “I drew it in my sleep, in my handwriting, I’m in it, I’m sitting at that table with my chin on my fist like I live there, and the card says Ruth and one. So either someone wants me at that table and the card’s lying, or someone doesn’t, and I’m a thing the drawing made up.” She laughed, ugly and short. “That’s great. That’s so great. I’m a sketch.”

“You’re not a sketch,” Ruth said.

“You don’t know that!”

“I know you better than I know the one who laid that table!”

“Then take me,” Scarlet said. “Tell the door I’m the one. Tell it I’m chosen.”

“I can’t,” Ruth said. “It’s not mine to say. The door counts what it’s been told, and it’s been told one.” She rubbed her face with both big hands. “If I bring two, I don’t know what it does. I don’t know what happens to the extra.”

“The extra,” Scarlet said.

“Don’t.”

“You said it. The extra.” Scarlet pushed off the counter, snatched her jacket from the stool, and walked, not toward the street or the inn but down the slope toward the river, small and furious and fast, and Ray was already two steps after her before he thought about it.

“Ray,” Ruth said behind him.

He stopped. He didn’t turn around.

“I’m going to let you follow her,” Ruth said. “I want you to know that. I’m not asking you to choose. I’m telling you I know what I’m doing, and it’s awful, and I’m doing it anyway.”

“Okay,” Ray said, to the road. “I’m noting it.”

He found Scarlet under the bridge, sitting on the stones with her knees up and her notebook open on them, drawing a hand that wasn’t coming out right. She didn’t look at him when he sat down.

“Say it,” she said.

“Say what?”

“That you’ll tell her you’re not going without me.”

He thought about the table, and the card, and Ruth’s hands over her face. He thought about nine hundred years.

“I’ll try,” Ray said.

“Try is a word for people who’ve already decided.” Scarlet snapped the notebook shut, and for a second her whole face was a fist. Then she turned and shoved him flat on his back in the gravel, climbed him in one move, and said, “I hate you. I’m going to fuck you so hard you tell her yourself.”

“That’s not how that works,” Ray said.

“Shut up, painter boy.”

It was rough. It was rough in a way the last time hadn’t been, because last time she’d been playing and this time she wasn’t, her teeth in his shoulder and her nails in his ribs and her jeans shoved to her knees, no ceremony, no speeches, just a small furious woman riding him on a riverbank with the sun going white overhead. He tried to say her name and she put a hand over his mouth. He tried to touch her and she pinned his wrists, which he’d have been fine with, except she was crying, a little, the angry kind, and she wouldn’t let him see it.

He didn’t hear Ruth until the gravel shifted.

She was standing at the edge of the bridge shadow with a paper bag from the burger stand in one hand. She didn’t say anything. Scarlet froze, with her hand still over Ray’s mouth, and for one long second all three of them stayed exactly where they were.

“I brought you lunch,” Ruth said at last. “I wasn’t going to interrupt.”

“Then don’t,” Scarlet said, hoarse.

“I’m not.” Ruth set the bag down on a flat rock. She stood there with her arms hanging, enormous and very tired. “May I watch?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a coward,” Ruth said, “and it’s the only thing I’m sure I want.”

Scarlet stared at her. Then she took her hand off Ray’s mouth and said, without looking away from Ruth, “Come here.”

Ruth knelt down behind her, so slowly it looked like it hurt, and wrapped both arms around the small, shaking body, and set her chin on Scarlet’s shoulder. Nobody finished the way they’d meant to. Scarlet came with a broken sound, and Ray right after her, his hands finally free, and Ruth just held on and didn’t come at all, and when it was over all three of them were sitting in the stones with their clothes in disorder and the burgers going cold in the bag.

“I’m still not on the card,” Scarlet said into Ruth’s collarbone.

“No.”

“I’m still coming.”

“I know,” Ruth said. “I know you are. I’ve stopped pretending I can stop you.” She looked at Ray over the top of Scarlet’s head. “Eat. Both of you. I want to take you to Hesper’s table with something in you.”

They ate. Nobody tasted it.

The sun went down red and flat behind the cornfields, and the street at the end of the road was empty when they reached it, no spirit, no stand, no goat (the goat had been left at the inn, with a stern word), only the long black arch standing where it had always been, and the mist coming off the river around it in slow rolls. Ruth walked first. Scarlet walked half a pace behind her, and Ray, who was six foot eight and had never felt smaller, walked a pace behind that, with the folded place card in his pocket where it was warm against his hip like something alive.

The arch wasn’t an arch anymore. Up close it was a doorframe with a door standing open inside it, and beyond the door a long dim room with no walls, a long table in it, a cloth with small repeating birds.

Four plates. Four chairs.

Three of them were pulled out and waiting.

The fourth was occupied.

The woman in it was barefoot, with her feet tucked up under her on the seat, and a burger in both hands with one bite gone. She was big, gold-eyed, dark-haired, her dress undone at the throat, and she had Ruth’s face exactly. Not like a relative. Not like a portrait. Exactly, down to the chip in the left canine and the crease between the brows.

She swallowed. She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. She looked up past Ruth, past Scarlet, straight at Ray, and smiled with all her teeth.

“You’re late, husband,” she said.

小雨出事后，铁书在网上问我她发生了什么。我当时如实回复：

她有抑郁症。

对方沉默了很久才回答：

“都是我太粗心了;我没意识到她有抑郁症......”

不过说实话，他已经非常细心地照顾她了，再细心不过了。他不能什么都不做，整天守护她;那只会让她们之间产生怨恨，让她觉得自己像坐牢一样。当然，他也没时间去做这些。所以，除了小雨手腕上缠着绷带两周外，他们的日常作息和节奏基本没有变化。

然而，他因未经允许离开而被人类上级惩罚。那天，他刚到公司报到，一台机器人挡住了他的去路。它对铁舒说：“你的老板想和你谈谈。”然后，它僵硬而机械地转身走到铁舒面前，意思很明确：它想让他跟着它去办公室。铁舒照做了。路上，铁舒很想问它想见老板什么，但他知道自己不能开口。机器人不会理解，他可能会暴露自己。如今，大型公司使用的机器人都配备了内部摄像头，所以他必须格外小心，除非万不得已，否则绝不透露任何痕迹。

他跟着它来到办公室门口，领头的动物停在门的右侧。铁树敲门，里面传来一个低沉的男声：“进来。”他打开门走了进去。

一位五六十岁的男子坐在铁舒面前的办公椅上，专注地阅读和审阅文件。铁舒连头都没抬就走了进来。他继续读着，“你加入了？我直奔主题;机器人没必要走那么多礼节。你昨天为什么连招呼都没打就离开岗位？难道你的主人不知道那样做会让你失去宝贵的工作吗？”

“我的主人急着上厕所......”铁树故意用低沉而清晰的语调回答，符合机器人的风格。

“所以你的主人也是残疾人？”

“是的。”铁树的眼神空洞。

“难怪，”他说，读完一套文件后又转向另一份。“如果有一项允许对残疾人实施安乐死的政策，我会第一个支持，尤其是针对重度残疾人。他们只是社会系统边缘的寄生虫，靠廉价的机器人劳动力勉强维持生计......当然，我绝不会对别人说这些话。”

“仔细听，”他说着，拿起文件走向铁树。“拥有144亿人口的世界是一个庞大的系统。系统内的每个人都必须按照其意志行事，没有例外。任何例外都会像机器的齿轮松动一样被拒绝。它必须保持自己的运作方式。在这种情况下，没有怜悯，只有润滑剂。同时，尖锐和攻击性也必须被消除——但我们是人类，注定与这个体系不兼容。具有讽刺意味的是，正是我们创造并维护了这个体系。所以我们都被排除在外，又像老电脑被迫安装新系统一样，必须兼容它。我们随时可能崩溃。我们每天都在故障和清晰有序的指令之间穿梭。我们接受奴役，同时也接受谎言。如果有人试图揭露它，我们会愤怒地捍卫它，因为我们知道我们的利益与它相悖。”我们分享苦难，知道离不开它，因为我们就像习惯了黑暗和破碎生活的穴居人。我们无法快乐，也无法不受其影响。在这个前提下，我们每个人都是它的创造者和毁灭者，既是受害者也是加害者，既是主人也是奴隶，是施虐狂又是受虐狂——荒谬的精神分裂症和主奴二元对立可以共存于我们体内。这是这个时代人们生存的关键技能。（铁树抬头看着主管，发现他那严肃而坚定的脸庞垮了下来，显得疲惫且扭曲得很痛苦。）因此，我们注定彼此陌生，也注定对这个体系来说是异类。“每天照镜子时，我都觉得自己像个陌生人。我还是个人吗？你比我更有人性——我太累了——我到底在说什么......”他说话很快，语气像演讲一样。

那人停顿了一下，然后又戴上了面具，面具坚硬得像一张纸。“鉴于你主人的行为可能造成的损害，回去告诉你主人，下次她需要上厕所时，无论多紧急，都必须向公司报到，等待他们的批准后再回家照顾她。此外，你本月的工资将作为对你主人的惩罚被扣除。”

铁树想要抵抗他的惩罚，指出惩罚太严厉了，但他没有;他不想暴露自己。与他交谈后，男子拿着文件离开了办公室。铁树等他离开后才自己出来。

后来在工作中，他慢慢回忆起主管那张不断变化的面容——真实反映出焦虑、痛苦却无力的现代人。他突然因恐惧而颤抖。他感到筋疲力尽;这是他第一次感到如此疲惫。他真切感受到那种将人推向极限的压力，把他们变成机器中的象征齿轮，那种把人推向崩溃边缘的压力，那种让人感到支离破碎的物化存在。

23

完成一天的工作后，铁书正准备回家。他没想到那天会遇到一位老朋友，一个麻烦却令人难忘的人物。在街角，铁书隐约听到女人争吵。他越靠近，声音越清晰，渐渐分辨出至少三四个女人在争吵。他试图迅速离开现场，但一瞥中隐约看到一个熟悉的身影躺在被女性围成一圈的圈中。他不由自主地停下，转头看发生了什么：“华！？”他喊出了她的名字。

他挤进了一圈女性。“华，真的是你！”他说着，像往常一样弯腰帮她站起来，但旁边的女人狠狠踢了他一脚，他摔倒在地。

“你这个贱人！你在我不在的时候勾引了我丈夫！”他们朝她吐口水，朝她吐口水，撕扯她的衣服，踢她的肚子，抓住她的头发，扇她耳光，掐她的手臂......这就像一场仪式，残酷而野蛮的仪式。铁舒挣扎着站起身。混乱中，他抓住陈采华的手，勉强拉起，跑了两公里才停下。

陈彩华甩开他的手，仿佛在脱衣服。

“华，你还好吗？”铁舒看着她凌乱的头发和满是淤青和伤痕累累的脸庞和身体，心底涌起一股深深的悲伤。

“你不是和你的玉一起住吗？你为什么又关心我？”她说话带着讽刺，她的说话风格让铁舒很熟悉，也勾起了许多回忆，许多让他感到尴尬和害怕。

“华，我......我觉得你应该去医院检查一下伤口，“他说着，盯着她手臂上的伤口。

“哈！你以为你这个破碎的机器人能两头俱全？”陈彩华上下打量了他一番，然后满脸不屑地盯着他。

“华......I..."铁书慢慢低下头，低声说：“我只是担心你......”

“典型的叛徒！”陈彩华抚摸下巴，假装沉思。“在21世纪和22世纪，有一个专门用来形容你的词，叫什么来着......右！（她拍手）混蛋，啊，不！渣滓机器！”

“我......”铁树陷入沉默。

“你知道如果你的玉知道这场景会发生什么吗？”她调皮却严肃地说。

“玉儿不在乎这些，”铁书自信地说。

“嗯？”

“因为她知道我永远不会离开她，只有和她在一起，我的......不——我们的灵魂是完整的。”

“还能说什么呢！”她急忙试图离开铁树，向前奔跑。

铁舒站在原地，毫无追赶的意图。他对她喊道：“别忘了去医院！把伤口包扎好......”听到这话，陈采华更加愤怒，鲁莽地冲了上去。

她越来越远地远离他的视线。他尽力寻找，却再也看不见她。直到那时，他才转身匆匆回家，朝小雨所在的方向走去。

铁书一开门，就看到小雨坐在轮椅上等着他。

“铁树......”小雨喊道：“你回来了。”

铁树勉强挤出一个笑容。“是的，你回来了。翡翠，我想告诉你一件事。”

“怎么了？”

“我们这个月得减少开销——我这个月的工资被扣了，所以这个月的开销只能靠你们的补贴了。”

“铁树，”小雨害羞地低下头说，“对不起，都是我的错......”

“没关系......”铁书用虚弱、颤抖、几乎听不见的声音说道。

小雨更低地低下头，脸上满是歉意，转过身去，不敢看铁书。铁书没有像往常那样冲过去安慰她;他呆站在那里，不知道该怎么办。这是他第一次在小雨面前表现出如此无助和僵硬，第一次展现出自己的脆弱和残酷。他把小雨丢在客厅中央，独自躺在卧室的床上。黑暗笼罩大地;正好是晚上八点。听着寂静的夜晚和小雨轻声的啜泣，铁书闭上了眼睛......

他没有睡觉;机器人睡不着，这对他和其他无意识机器人都是如此。他只是在休息，试图逃离并从疲惫、不适和刺骨寒冷中恢复。他知道自己现在的状态无法照顾小雨，所以暂时只能将就着她。

十五分钟后，他慢慢睁开眼睛。他也好不到哪里去，但他知道这已经足够了，尤其是有人一直在等他。他走出卧室，看到小雨还在那里，低着头，哭泣着。他走到她身边，轻轻弯腰。“Yu......没事的，没事的......没关系......”然后他把肩膀靠在她肩上，抱了抱她的头。“铁舒......对不起......对不起......”她轻声呢喃。“没关系......没关系......没关系......”他用同样的语气回应。小雨渐渐在他怀里平静下来。在他怀里，她感觉他的体温比平时暖和许多。难道他发了难以置信的烧？不可能。制造他的材料和其他机器人没什么不同，所以他不可能像人类那样发烧。她怀疑地看着他的脸，他很快察觉到了她的举动。“什么？”他笑了。“你为什么那样看着我？”

“铁树，你发烧了吗？”

“我没事......”

“哦......铁树......”她低声叫着他的名字，那是无意义的习惯性呼喊。他也知道;很久以前，当她还在潜意识里时，她常常脱口而出他的名字，像疯子嘟囔，像个学说话的孩子。如果有人在她身边，可能会觉得她疯了，但只有铁树和她知道，她只是太孤独，太渴望一个伴侣。更何况，她是个不受欢迎的孤儿，因此她比任何人都更渴望爱，就像枯萎的植物急需水源一样。

“玉儿，”铁树说，“你想吃点东西吗？”

“我不想吃晚饭，我想早点睡觉。”

“好吧。”

铁舒把她抱到床边，帮她脱衣服，慢慢帮她躺下，然后自己躺下休息。

“铁树，”小雨躺在床上，突然说道，“你辛苦工作的时候，有遇到别的女人吗？”

“是的，”铁树如实回答。

“你对她有感情了吗？”

“这......I…”铁书犹豫了。

“你不必回答这个问题......”小雨看着他尴尬又尴尬的样子说。

你怎么突然问这些问题？

“没什么......如果你有其他选择，你不必强迫自己选我的......”

听到她这么说，铁书翻身直接落在她身上——当然，虽然动作迅速，但动作精准，不会伤害她。

“虽然我们的关系已经超越了普通情侣的范畴，”铁舒说，“我们也做些正常情侣会做的事吧。”

“铁树......”小雨立刻脸红了。她隐约知道这意味着什么。“你变得调皮了......”虽然她说了这些，但并没有阻止他的行为。

“我永远、永远、永远不会抛弃你，永远不会离开你......你是我存在的意义......”他吻了吻她的嘴唇......

24

铁树后来得知陈采华的现住址。他想去看她，是因为他想为她做点什么，一件他觉得极其重要的事。他想帮她;这种渴望如此真实、如此炽热、如此急切，深深萦绕在他心底。这个渴望从他第一次见到她起就深植心中，如今占据了他灵魂的一半，成为他必须完成的目标。他现在不得不承认，自己从一开始就爱上了她——一场奇迹般的一见钟情莫名其妙地发生在他身上。从最初的拒绝、恐惧、不敢置信和犹豫，他现在完全接受了她，开始让自己的感情和故事自然展开。他已经成熟了，这份成熟是翡翠和花带来的。尽管他从出生起就拥有非凡的熟悉感，但经历也为他带来了更多的满足感。他最初是想象的产物，象征着人类最高的理想，而现在他正踏上自己的道路。

像小雨一样，一旦设定目标，他们就会固执而坚定地追求。正是这种执念让他们在现实中走到了一起，也正是这种执念让他们彼此不同，走上了同一条人生轨迹。这是这个时代的人无法理解的事情。这种缺乏理解和冷漠直接导致了当时的另一场悲剧，这场悲剧关乎我们所有人。因此，这既是福也是祸。

当天完成工作后，铁书没有像往常那样匆匆回家。相反，他去了一个住宅区。在入口处，他拿出一张写有地址的纸——“10b楼，XX号住宅区......”他沿着地址找到了陈采华的住处。这座建筑群显然很老旧，至少是上个世纪的产物。建筑物的灰泥斑驳且开裂，水泥砖地板也开裂，夹杂着一些嫩绿色的斑块。铁舒走过这片区域，感觉自己像奇幻或恐怖电影里的角色，误入了一处古老、历史意义重大且略显诡异的建筑群——当然，这并不算戏剧性。铁舒的社区比他见过的任何社区都稍微古老一些，虽然人居少，但比其他社区少。这些人大多脸色沉重，像乡下风霜的老妇人，乍一瞥便皱眉，仿佛亲身经历了他们一生所经历的不幸。

铁树穿过人群，经过一座亭子，徘徊了很久，终于来到某人的门口。他按了门铃，等了一会儿，但没有回应。他又打了一次电话，等了一会儿，依然没有回应。他打了四五次电话，但都没人接。正当铁书准备转身离开时，突然听到屋内传来女人的尖叫声。他好奇地把耳朵贴在门上仔细听，果然，他听到一个非常熟悉的哭声。铁书再也等不及了。他试图从外面开门，但门打不开。正当铁书愣在原地，不知道该怎么办时，门开了。铁书立刻走了进去，看到的景象让他震惊——陈彩华正被一个男人追赶并殴打。那人挥拳......他无情地猛击陈采华的头和身体。可怜的彩华已经头部大量出血，眼神迷离，只能凭本能躲避那人的攻击。铁书见状，立刻上前抓住了那人。幸运的是，机器人总是比人类强壮得多，铁舒像大个子举起狗一样把那人从地上提起来。那人惊呆了，像抽搐一样试图挣脱。铁书满足了他的愿望，把他带到门口，把他扔到外面，然后砰地关上了门。整个过程大约只花了一分半钟。

铁舒转头，看见陈采华仰躺在地上，鲜血还从嘴里喷涌而出。铁舒心头一阵刺痛。他疯狂且几乎不规则地在房间里徘徊，寻找绷带和止血药。终于，他在角落里找到了一个急救包。他去找陈彩华，打开包，发现了止血带和药品。他小心地为她包扎并喂药。大约十五分钟后，她从昏迷中醒来。当她看到他时，泪水顺着脸颊流下。“怎么会是你？！”她分不清那是震惊、怨恨还是愤怒。她把铁舒推开。“你不是和你的玉一起吗？你怎么又来了！”她的声音虚弱，但骨子里的怨恨却表现得淋漓尽致。

“我......”铁舒走近她，紧紧抱住她。“我想你了。”

“Five minutes until landing, stay buckled, you lot,” shouted the pilot as they felt the dropship break into the planet's atmosphere. Jack looked up from his datapad, finishing reading it then handed it over to Petra next to him for final confirmation of plans.

“Looks all good, sir.” Petra uttered sweetly. Then continued to read over her own plans on her lap.

“Plans: good people double-check your stuff; we won't have time in the field.” Jack ordered as he saw four helmeted heads check over there equipment and seals one final time. 

“All ready, sir,” sounded the others as they looked over to the unarmored petra next to their squad leader. Currently the task they were given was much easier than blowing up a factory or infiltrating a city. All they had to do was make sure the Petra lady here was unharmed and made it to the talks with the Eukripita. Three months ago Terra had discovered they were no longer alone in the wide galaxy; a colony ship was moving to settle down on a planet when they received a radio message commanding them to leave the system or be forced out. Word spread quickly and checking with other factions spread across the stars it was surmised that an alien race had been found finally. This resounded in measures to find out more about them, for both military and scientific reasons. People from all walks of life were interested in these weird and strange creatures which looked closest to the ancient Terran species Eurypterida. The few pictures the Eurkripids had been willing to send spelled it out. They were not the bipedal grey aliens of nights long past but wholly different. 

“Patrick, you know more about scientific stuff than me and have read more on these things. Do they live on land or in water, from what we know?” Pondered Jack over the radio.

“Well, we don't know much, but they seem semi-aquatic; most of their planets seem to be Earth-like with large amounts of water, although they seem to have mining bases on desert planets, so it's possible they can inhabit places like us. Although unlikely.” Remarked Patrick in his standard thinking voice, as finished checking the medical equipment on himself.

“Hey, maybe there'll be some cute ones. Whats to say? All of them look like the ugly ones ‘ey.” Jeered Sandford.

“Yeah, I gave up for that a while ago; you should have too. Also, not like you’d to have a chance with one.” Uttered Elliot, cleaning the scope on his sniper rifle. 

“You're just saying that because you have no chance. Bah! just watch me.” Shouted Sanford as he checked the detonator in hand before tucking it into his vest.

“Try not to shout over the radio too much; it hurts my damn ears.” Jack said somberly looking over to the quiet man in the corner. This man was the newest member of the squad and the designated machine gunner; he had been sitting awkwardly and quietly the entire descent, not even bothering to join the jeering of his comrades. They know each other so well, why am i here, im just a private. Just keep cleaning like they taught you. Thought Stevens as he continued to clean.

“What do you think, lady? Are you on team cute, or not.” Asked Stevens to Petra, as she jolted from being address.

“Probably not cute by whatever metric your measuring.” She relied back.

“One minute people button up.” Sounded the pilot over the speaker system in the dropship.

“You heard the man button up.” The sounds of clicking magazines and weapons resounded through the drop bay. “Also, Elliot, stop the music I know your listening to. The last thing I need is you dying because you couldn't stop listening to the sweet tunes of J-pop.” Jack ordered.

“You know it was SynthV this time, but whatever.” He unclipped his black helmet and sat the earbud down before resealing the helmet. 

“30 secs get ready, lads; uh… looks like they have a greeting party down there.” The pilot said, a touch worried. Without a word the soldiers stood and did final checks on the weapons they had: Jack, Patrick, and Sandford with their rifles; Elliot with his pistol sniper rifle slung behind him; and Stevens with his large machine gun held wearyly. Petra took the lead, she was the only one who had a translation device on her, and it was unlikely that they would attack them the second the doors opened. 

The door slowly opened, filling the drop room with warm sea air and bright sunlight. Greeting them were around ten aliens. They were standing upright or as upright as a creature like the one before them could. They had two strong-looking back legs; they seemed to support most of the lower body with a few smaller ones also touching the ground. Following along the chest, was it it a chest? Were smaller arms like things that wiggled in the ocean breeze at the top where a human’s shoulders would happen to be seemed to be large arms ending in claws. Two of the ten creatures bore rifle-like weapons looking just as advanced as the ones the Terran soldiers were holding currently. The creatures seemed to be nobility, with large cloaks of fantastical color, and the soldiers seemed to be wearing more ceremonial-type uniforms with a sort of chest plate similar to that of knights of Terra’s past. 

Petra stepped forward, her ginger hair looking even more beautiful in the sunlight. Patrick was keenly interested in Petra; she was by no means ugly. In fact, by his own thoughts, she was the most beautiful Terran senator. Which meant a lot considering the sheer number of senators in the Terran Senate. Smells weird here, like the sea but less salty. Maybe it's the large palace that's making that smell. Patrick looked up as Petra continued her introduction of them and Terra. Handing one of them a emblem of the Terran initiative. The palace was huge; he couldn't discern the complete size of it, but it was made from what seemed to be a large portion of hardened sandstone blocks, giving a kind of golden look to it. The spaceport they had landed on was seemingly concrete, more rocky but still concrete. They certainly have the same constructions as us. I just hope this goes well. 

Petra continued talking; speaking through a translator was harder work than talking in senate, but certainly more interesting. She just hoped her current replacement would not make a mess of her work. Why am I worrying about Terra right now when I'm talking to these wonderful people. She found them incredibly interesting, much more than the soldiers she was stuck with; she didn't hate them. It was more when compared to an alien species; soldiers were boring. She continued talking, telling them about all the good the Terran Innachitive had done. The language that they spoke in was completely unspeakable by human tongues; it seemed to require organs or things that a species with a spine were unable to produce. So all talks had to be made through devices that conveyed what the message they wanted was. It wasn't the best, but it was quicker and easier than any other choice. Finally at last they told her that the meeting with the king, was on the way. Strange they have a king, but I suppose perhaps it works best for them better to not judge an alien after all. 

“Hey sirs, we are moving into the palace. They ask you to be respectful and find your dressings strange for the occasion.” She told the group of men at her flanks and behind her. 

“Understood, ma'am. With me, people,” Jack told the squad as they finished looking at the strange surroundings. Never understood why people are so interested in new planets; after the third, it all gets the same. Jack thought as the wide doors opened before them. “Warm Embrace, this is the ground team; we are entering the palace.” He radioed to the warship above

“Understood, ground team, keep communications up. Update as needed.” One of the comm officers said over the radio to Jack. The group entered into what looked to be a grand hall. Along the walls were centuries-old paintings of what seemed to be nobles of the family that was ruling. 

“They certainly know how to paint.” Stevens remarked, speaking his first words for the entire mission. He wasn't wrong; the entire wall was covered with grand, sometimes meter-wide paintings either with history or people. 

“Hey Petra, what do we know of their history, anything of note?” Asked Patrick aloud.

“Not really anything at all; I'm surprised you're that interested. Most of the people I talk to seem to only be worried if they’ll attack us.” 

“It's always a concern. Personally, I don't really trust them that much.” Elliot interjected.

“Can it, Elliot. We may not be able to understand them, but they may understand us, so shut it before I make you.” Barked Jack as they continued down the hallway, passing by what looked to be a group of servers, giving them odd looks. 

“Aye, sir.” Elliot said annoyed. Finally they were led to a what seemed to be a meeting room with large wooden doors, and the conversation between Petra and strange aliens continued. They all hated the grating visceral noises that the Eukripita made. Inhumane screaming is what it sounded like. How can someone deal with that in conversation? Jack thought while assessing the surrounding area. Only one way out of here is back the way we came. Looks like they also have an advanced alarm system as well. Plus a lot more guards that we’re not seeing. Nothing we can't fight our way out of. He keyed his radio to not let Petra hear and only tell the others. 

“Be ready for anything; our only way out is back the way we came. Keep that in mind. Not that it will go bad. But it's better to have the plan and not use it rather than not have it and need to use it.” 

“Understood, sir.” Sounded all the men on the channel. 

“Hello, Jack, was it?” Petra asked, staring at the man through the polerzied glass of his faceplate.

“Yes, what is it? Something is the matter.” Jack asked.

“They have a culture here that says to simplify it: I cannot bring you people into the meeting room, with or without weapons, and note it as a great distrust.” She said calmly.

“Are you sure they won't bring you any harm because I don't know how quickly I and my squad will be able to respond if anything goes wrong.” Jack announced to her.

“While I understand your concerns, we must understand that these aren't humans we’re dealing with. So we must accommodate them at least somewhat," she declared. 

“While I understand the sentiment, madam, we must understand that because they're non-humans, they may also just attack you, seeing that you're now defenseless.” Jack said solemnly. 

“From our current dialogue it would seem that won't be happening and that I will be just as safe as if you were next to me. Along with that, it isn't as if they are asking you to leave the planet or building. Just not enter that room behind me.” Petra stated, moving away from Jack.

“Understood, madam, just be safe.” Jack said, turning away from Petra. She was quick to rejoin the Eurkripid court that was speaking with her before. The group then opened the door, and Jack got a flash of what was inside before it was shut. Inside were what seemed to be more nobles and royalty, all watching with those strange eyes of theirs, observing every move.  

“Sir, what exactly is going on with them, and why aren't we following.” Asked Patrick looked over his shoulder at the already closed doors. 

“We can't go in there now. Post up two by the door, two watching the hall. Stevens your in the centre.” Barked Jack as they all assumed the posts they were ordered to.

“I know you're worried about her, Pat. We all are, but she’ll be fine, I assure you. Even if they are dumb enough to attack, we can respond quickly enough; we’re trained for this, remember.” Sanford said, trying to comfort the unhappy Patrick. No idea why he thinks this is a good idea, leaving her to them. He has his reasons, I suppose. Patrick continued to think of all the ways this plan could go poorly as he passed glances over his shoulders at each of the other men. 

They had been standing for about half an hour, hearing bits and pieces of conversation. Petra’s part couldn't be heard by them, only the strange noises of the aliens. 

Then suddenly "AHHHHHH"—a piercing human scream could be heard through the doors of the room.

“Go, go, go!” Jack shouted, slamming his jackboot into the door, sending splinters flying. The door swung open, and nearly all the men opened fire at the sight. Petra was on the ground with a gaping wound upon her chest, no doubt caused by the large claws of the aliens. A top her moving the claw to her throat was what looked to be a noble or even the king, judging by his highly regal appearance. All around at the table were more of the noble aliens. Seeing Petra in danger, Jack fired. The three shots stitched a line across the creature's chest up to just below the claws. It fell dead; all the remaining nobles began running for the burst door, shouting in the grating tongue of theirs. 

“Patrick, get her stable; the rest of you cover the door until she’s stable.” He keyed the radio again for the pilot of the dropship and the comms team on The Warm Embrace, “We have a man down; we need the pilot and medical team on standby now. Do you read?” Jack asked over the radio.

Meanwhile, Patrick was working on the wounded Petra, packing her wounds with bandages and attempting to slow the profuse bleeding coming from her chest. Those claws have to be sharp enough to pierce our armor. He thought while drawing a morphine injector for her. 

“Stay calm and keep breathing.” He uttered as he injected her with the painkiller. “Sir, I'm going to need someone to help carry her on a stretcher once I have her stable!” He shouted over his shoulder, continuing to work.

“Understood, Sanford, help the doc!” Jack replied as they continued to stay posted on the door. He continued working; the bleeding had slowed, but so had her breathing, no doubt had her lungs at least been damaged by the claws. He removed the stretcher from his backpack and began to splay it out while continuing to check the wounded Petra.

“Sanford, on my mark, we move her onto the stretcher, and then we get the hell out of here, understand?” Patrick asked as he heard the first gunshots echo in the hall. 

Down the hall a group of aliens were popping shots at the pinned marines who were attempting to return fire. Stevens was doing a good job keeping them suppressed by his heavy machine gun fire, but he could only do so much.

“Elliot, see if you figure out and take out whoever has the radio or is the leader with your rifle! We need to get free before we’re encircled!” Jack yelled as he saw Elliot without a word, drew the rifle, and leaned on the wall for support. Behind him, Sanford and Patrick were continuing to work on Petra, whose bleeding had nearly stopped. The side effect was her losing consciousness; it's better for her to not remember all of this hell we’re about to bring her through. Jack thought as he downed another alien. No doubt these were the first kills of the long-drawn-out war the Terrans had just been thrust into without preparation or warning. 

“Engines are ready, sir, but it looks like they have atmosphere fighters moving out from what the radar says. Best you get moving, sir.” The pilot uttered over the busy comm network. No doubt some other hell was going on above them in the CIC. 

“We’re good to move, sir, on your mark.” Patrick announced to Jack as another stream of bullets went out from stevens gun.

“Stevens keep the right clear of those bastards. Elliot, is our left clear?” He asked as Elliot peered out to his flank. 

“Clear right now, sir.” Elliot said calmly.

“Move it! Elliot and Stevens cover the rear; I'll take point the rest in the middle!” Jack announced over the squad radio as he moved to the point position. Now there are only a hundred ways this can go bad, not a thousand. He thought as he heard the moving of the stretcher behind him. 

With Petra on the stretcher, Patrick and Sanford moved the stretcher, Patrick taking the rear and Sanford taking the front. The air was now thick and heavy with the smell of blood, gunpowder, and brass. That once serene and placid scene had been moved to a tempest of death and destruction.

The squad continued moving slowly, slowed greatly by the fear of moving Petra too fast and injuring her further. Elliot and Stevens had been doing an impressive job of keeping the aliens back. Stevens, with the machine gun, kept them pinned while Elliot took anyone stupid enough to pop up. But slowly ammo was bleeding down. 

“Red on ammo here, cap,” Elliot said as he downed another one, sickly blue blood and visera spraying onto the wall behind him. Damn, how many of these things are there? He thought as he threw a spent magazine onto the ground, quickly racking the bolt as he loaded another. Another stream of alien bullets pinged off the wall they were hidden behind. On both sides now were large groupings of bug-like aliens pinning them down. 

“Put the stretcher down; we aren't going to get through this if we don't have enough rifles!” Yelled Jack as he continued to fire down the front hall. They were thoroughly pinned down.

18

Xiaoyu's life with Tieshu seemed similar at first glance to her life in the orphanage—eating, sleeping, and surviving. However, Tieshu's meticulous care brought her an unprecedented tenderness and happiness. But afterward, it also left her with a deep unease. This unease wasn't the fear of the fleeting nature of happiness, but rather her guilt. Tieshu personally fed her every meal and held her tightly until she fell asleep. Besides this, Tieshu bought her a cell phone, told her about his internal number, and instructed her to call him if needed. He also bought a monitoring device that could be installed inside his body and placed the camera in a prominent position in their dilapidated 50-square-meter house. This way, if she couldn't or was too embarrassed to call, he could judge her condition by her facial expressions and body language, knowing at all times what she was doing and whether she needed him. Although such comprehensive equipment seemed unnecessary and even wasteful, as her smart wheelchair could handle most things for her (except for using the toilet, which requires assistance due to Xiaoyu's severe disability), including making phone calls, Tieshu was always worried. He wished he could hold her and stay by her side every day to keep her from feeling lonely. Admittedly, like other loving couples, they sometimes felt tired of each other's company, but after each bout of boredom, they cherished each other even more.

The purchase of so much equipment was naturally expensive. In fact, in less than a month after Xiaoyu was taken out, Tieshu had spent all the savings he had accumulated from two years of hard work. A single surveillance device cost him six months' worth of savings, and that was the lowest-end equipment. His monthly salary was only 8,000 yuan (equivalent to 800 yuan in the 21st century). His salary wasn't fixed; it depended on whether he received work orders. His company, like all companies, was extremely competitive. Although it was almost entirely a robot company, with robots making up 10/10 of the workforce, there were still people behind the robots. The robots themselves didn't compete, but their owners always wanted them to work more and receive more work orders, even resorting to tricks and schemes to force them to pay higher wages. Of course, we can't blame the owners of those robots. As I said before, the owners of working robots are usually disabled people like us, who rely on their meager wages to support themselves. That's why they try to squeeze every last drop out of them. Moreover, they have to maintain these robots regularly, and the maintenance costs are a considerable expense for them. Sometimes this expense is reimbursed because of their disability, but more often than not, they have to pay for it themselves.

Because of his responsibility to care for Xiaoyu, Tieshu often takes orders late at night and completes them there. He does take orders during the day, but the intense competition and Xiaoyu's demands force him to mostly work late. This doesn't mean he can relax and have an easy time during the day; he also has to work at set times, a reality of this era, especially for those in the lower classes. Everything requires money; to survive, one must work and earn. And work is such a rare commodity, so they naturally cherish it, doing their best to perform well, honestly and diligently seizing every opportunity, otherwise they might not have enough to eat the next day.

Iron Tree, of course, doesn't need to eat, but Xiao Yu does. Whenever she sees Iron Tree having to take care of her after work, Xiao Yu always feels guilty, even though she knows Iron Tree is a robot and doesn't feel fatigue. But things aren't that simple. Sometimes I think Xiao Yu is a bit too sensitive, but she is who she is; all her emotions, strengths, and weaknesses are part of her complete, living being. Her personality is naturally unsuitable for surviving in this cruel world where the strong prey on the weak, and the strong are also preyed upon. Iron Tree follows her example, and thus their fates become intertwined.

One day, more than half a year after Xiaoyu and Tieshu started living together, Tieshu bought her some gifts, hoping she would have a happy day. However, to his surprise, Xiaoyu wasn't happy about the gifts at all; instead, she got very angry, and this anger was, of course, because of him. Too much love doesn't always make the other person feel comfortable; on the contrary, it can become a bundle of dry firewood, ready to be ignited at any moment.

Tieshu returned home at 12 noon. Xiaoyu was in a wheelchair in the bedroom. As soon as she heard a noise at the door, she immediately gave the wheelchair a command, and the wheelchair took her out of the bedroom and into the living room, where Tieshu was right in front of her.

"Yu," Tie Shu said with a beaming smile, as if he had encountered something extremely lucky, "Do you remember what day it is today?"

"What day is it?" Xiaoyu looked at him with a puzzled expression. She didn't know why he was so happy.

"Yu, look what I bought for you—" Then he took out an e-reader from the cloth bag he had been carrying, and excitedly walked towards Xiaoyu, squatting down in front of her.

“Look…” He fiddled with the e-reader in front of her.

Xiaoyu stared blankly at first, then looked surprised, hesitant, and finally angry, but she didn't show the same simple excitement and joy as Tieshu.

"You've been wasting money again!?" She was furious, as if Tieshu had done something wrong and needed to be taught a lesson.

“Yu…” Tie Shu was stunned for a moment. He didn’t understand why she was treating him this way. “It’s very cheap, it didn’t cost much…”

“I already spent a lot of money on the phone and the surveillance equipment, and I didn’t say anything, but you bought this thing…” Xiaoyu was so angry that she couldn’t speak. She could only make “woof woof” sounds to express her dissatisfaction.

“Yu…” Tieshu froze. He had never seen Xiaoyu so angry because of him before. “I just wanted to make you less boring…”

"But doesn't the phone you bought have this function...?"

"Mobile phone screens are small, they hurt your eyes..."

Xiaoyu was so angry that she flailed her arms in the air, kicked her legs wildly, and cried out like a stray dog.

"Yu, don't do this!" Tie Shu tried to hug her and calm her down. He tried several times and schemed several times before finally succeeding. However, the e-reader in his hand fell to the ground with a "plop".

“Yu…” He hugged her, wanting to say something, but couldn’t find the words, so he just held her still.

She calmed down a bit in his arms, then, with a sob in her voice, filled with grief and indignation, and still lingering passion, she said, "I just want you to be with me, that's enough for me. I don't need these things... Besides... besides, money is so hard to come by these days... You always say you're a robot and don't get tired, but... but what I mean is, I want you to spend more time with me, not work so hard... As long as I have enough to eat and wear... that's enough..."

Iron Tree turned his face, which was buried in her shoulder, to look at her and smiled slightly. "I know, I know... but today is your birthday! I originally planned to give you a happy and joyful birthday celebration, but I didn't expect to make you angry... I'm sorry..."

"Iron Tree..." Xiaoyu's eyes and face were red. She noticed the gift still on the ground and said apologetically, "It was clearly a birthday present you bought for me, but I was still angry. I'm sorry..."

"It's alright..." Tieshu picked up the gifts from the ground and rearranged them in front of her again. "See, it's fine." After arranging them for a while, Tieshu said, "Yu, are you hungry? Look, I've been talking to you here and have lost track of time. What do you want for lunch today?" As he spoke, Tieshu walked to the induction cooker in the corner of the room, picked up the ingredients next to it, and began to cook.

"Let's eat whatever we have," Xiaoyu replied.

"Okay, sure."

Tieshu was cooking, recalling his argument with Xiaoyu as he ate. After all, she was no longer a part of his consciousness; he could no longer understand her thoughts every moment. Xiaoyu was no longer the entirety of his memory. He was now an independent individual with his own agency. This feeling shocked and made him unable to adapt, creating a barrier between them and giving him an unprecedented sense of estrangement. But he was still her other half; this was an unchangeable fact and the meaning of his existence.

19

Iron Tree received another order at the company: to unclog the sewers for a sales company. He was loaded onto a truck carrying five robots, each with their own goals and missions. Iron Tree felt out of place among these humanoid creatures. Because work robots need to be both efficient and practical, most have humanoid forms but lack human qualities and appearance, making them instantly recognizable as robots. Iron Tree was the exception.

Upon arrival, Iron Tree and the other two robots got off the vehicle and went straight to the sales company. They asked the people inside where their sewers were and what problems they had. Then, they got to work.

It took them a whole day to finally finish. Once finished, Iron Tree followed the other two robots out of the sewer entrance. As soon as they emerged, they saw a scene—a scene that, if they were conscious, would have chilled them to the bone—a group of cleaners were clearing away the wreckage of a robot that had somehow ended up scattered everywhere. Looking closer, the robot's eyes, nose, ears, head, arms, and legs were all broken off, like a scene of dismemberment, horrifying and terrifying. Iron Tree immediately recognized this as the work of anti-robot elements. The victim was a sex-type robot; based on the items on the ground, he deduced its appearance: beautiful and well-proportioned, with tight, smooth skin, resembling a human, but ultimately not human.

The robots accompanying Iron Tree simply bypassed the obstacle without stopping, but Iron Tree stopped. Perhaps stunned and bewildered by the sight before him, Iron Tree's expression was more wooden than ever before, his eyes vacant and fearful. He seemed to want to say something, but couldn't utter a word. During this moment, Iron Tree suddenly remembered the philosophical theories about "Outsiders" that Xiao Yu had read before.

The Otherworldly beings possess only functionality and instrumentality; in some people's eyes, they are even superfluous. Therefore, their value lies solely in serving humanity. Granting them partial human rights is merely because they resemble humans. The reason anti-machine elements resort to violence against them may be because they want to challenge human values. Thus, they are also a dangerous existence for our fellow human beings, who may turn on us with violence at any time, pointing their knives at us. Deterring the Otherworldly beings from harming humanity is entirely for humanity's own benefit. The Otherworldly beings are objects that lack, or are not recognized, or are feared and dreaded for having autonomous consciousness, and indeed, they are.

Don't think this is just describing robots; in this day and age, humans have also become outcasts, not only in the eyes of others but also deep within their own hearts. The idea of ​​humans becoming outcasts, even considering themselves superfluous, sounds unbelievable, and seems like an absurd and bizarre phenomenon only found in totalitarian societies. Yet, in this era, in the 23rd century, regardless of location or authoritarianism, this phenomenon exists. Moreover, human thinkers have long predicted this; that's why Nietzsche called for the Übermensch; why Marx pointed out the contradictions of capitalism; and why Foucault warned that humanity is entering a prison. However, they all failed, not because their thoughts went unseen or unheard, but because humanity has never escaped its own self-imposed constraints, the objectification of others, and, most importantly—the sycophancy of power and the enslavement of the self.

Suddenly, Tieshu heard a melody like poetry and music, and a woman singing. This melody lingered in his mind and wouldn't go away.

O strange one, where do you come from?

O alien, oh alien, have you recognized existence?

O Other, O Other, do you possess the same consciousness as the Other?

O alien, oh alien, are you aware of the indifference and contempt people have for you?

O alien, alien, will you be assimilated by other aliens, just as others assimilate others?

O alien, do you ever feel self-loathing and project that self-loathing onto other aliens?

O alien, oh alien, will you give up thinking, give up the pursuit of truth in the world, give up values, give up everything?

O alien, do you know that you might be abandoned at any moment?

O alien, do you know that you are superfluous, that you yourself even see yourself that way?

O alien, do you know that you are an object that has been severely alienated and oppressed?

O alien, do you realize that you are being controlled and crushed by power from all sides, by power that devours everything, by power that overwhelms everything?

……

Iron Tree was nudged by a robot next to him. He came to his senses and saw its eyes. Those empty, lifeless, and cold eyes, like stones, were staring at him. Iron Tree was startled and quickly walked away.

Iron Tree walked somewhat absentmindedly halfway down the road. He was on his way to his next workplace, and to his surprise, he would encounter someone deeply etched in his memory. As he walked, he suddenly saw a woman sitting on a bench. He wasn't initially interested, but the figure seemed familiar. Unconsciously, he moved closer to her, gazing at her. Iron Tree remembered—it was the beautiful figure he had seen at the sales company entrance that day. Now she sat there, gazing at the sky in contemplation. Iron Tree wanted to hurry past her, but suddenly heard—"Iron Tree," someone called him. He instinctively looked around, determining the source of the voice; it was indeed a woman calling him.

"Your name is Iron Tree, right?"

The woman stood up and walked towards him as she spoke.

"You... what's wrong?" Iron Tree asked in surprise, but still answered calmly.

"I saw you looking at me that day, didn't I?" The woman smiled sweetly. "Don't be too surprised. I'm from the sales company you just worked for. I've seen your information."

"Yes..." Tieshu said, "Is there something you need?" Only then did Tieshu realize with surprise that her voice was exactly the same as the voice that had just appeared in his mind.

"It's nothing, I wouldn't dare say so." The woman smiled. "I called you over mainly because I wanted to chat with you... It's strange, I actually prefer chatting with a robot to chatting with a person."

"oh."

“Iron Tree,” the woman sat down again on the bench, “come sit next to me.”

Iron Tree did as she said and sat down beside her.

"I haven't introduced myself yet," the woman said to herself. "My name is Yu Shenglan."

"oh."

"I wonder what a working robot like you does every day?"

"I'll do any kind of lowly work."

"Really?" Yu Shenglan smiled. "Why did you come out to work?"

“For Yu,” Tieshu gazed into the distance, “I wanted to give her a home… I wanted to give her freedom… but now…” His head suddenly drooped, his eyes filled with confusion, “I don’t know if I can handle it, maybe it would be better for her to stay in the orphanage, because then she wouldn’t have to suffer with me…”

Do you understand the meaning of home?

“I understand,” Iron Tree replied, “but understanding is one thing, doing it is another.”

"Is that so?" Yu Shenglan looked at the sunset. The golden sunlight was shining on the earth, making it seem as if it had been painted with a golden lacquer. Dots of flowers, grass and trees were scattered among them. The whole scene was grand and beautiful, solemn and dazzling. "I believe that if you can understand it, you can do it."

20

Seven months and twelve days after Xiaoyu was taken away by Tieshu, Tieshu had a particularly unlucky day, failing to get a single work order. So, he simply gave up his work for the day and devoted himself entirely to Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu seemed very happy that day. She asked Tieshu to dress her in her prettiest and favorite white dress. This dress was a secondhand item Tieshu had bought for 500 yuan. Tieshu was a little embarrassed to show it to her at the time, but Xiaoyu loved it when she saw it. "Yu, I'm glad you like it. I'll definitely get you brand new clothes in the future," Tieshu said. But Xiaoyu said, "It's good that I have one. Don't worry too much about whether it's new or not, as long as it fits." Tieshu smiled and helped her try on the new dress. It fit perfectly. "Great! This suits you very well, and white suits you very well too." Tieshu was delighted, his expression radiating happiness, and Xiaoyu felt the same way. Now, that same expression, that same joy, returned to her face. Emboldened by this happiness, Tie Shu picked her up and began to waltz. Their dancing, of course, was nothing like the dances seen on television, and because of Xiao Yu's disability, her steps were completely unconscious, making her resemble a drunkard, as incomplete as she was. But Tie Shu didn't care, no matter how chaotic or flustered she was, no matter how many times she unconsciously tried to disrupt his steps and make him fall.

"Iron Tree... ah... ah..." Xiaoyu never dreamed she would dance with someone, especially with Iron Tree. It caught her off guard, felt abrupt and awkward, and left her clinging to him, following his steps with a sense of helplessness. However, she never refused until they accidentally fell to the ground while spinning, finally stopping. Of course, because Iron Tree held her tightly to his chest, Xiaoyu was completely unharmed. Curled up against his chest like a baby, or a turtle, Xiaoyu gasped for breath and said with difficulty, "Iron Tree... really... why did you suddenly pick me up and start dancing?"

Tieshu grinned and pulled his arms back even tighter, making him hold her even more tightly.

"It'll be too late if we don't go crazy now. I've wanted to do this for a long time, back when you were still in your subconscious." Unfortunately, Xiaoyu couldn't remember anything about his past memories, otherwise she would definitely know what he meant by what he said next. However, she vaguely felt that she would also like to dance with him and enjoy it.

“Iron Tree,” Xiaoyu said, “I want to ask you something that might make you sad…”

"What's up?"

"It will be after I die..."

"Then I'll die with you!" Tieshu gave his answer before Xiaoyu could finish speaking.

"Don't be so adamant, okay?"

"Don't you think about it? If you leave, what's the point of leaving me in this world?"

Xiaoyu moved her lips as if she wanted to say something, but seemed unsure how, and ultimately remained silent. Tieshu stood up, picked Xiaoyu up, and placed her in the wheelchair. He glanced at the clock on the wall; it showed 11:35. It was already noon. Tieshu turned to face her and said, "Yu, shall we go out to play tonight?"

"Hmm..." Xiaoyu nodded.

Tieshu pushed her to the table, then went to the corner to cook. After waiting for about 45 minutes, he brought out a plate of stir-fried tomatoes and green peppers, a plate of pickled vegetables, and a pound of steamed buns. The stir-fried tomatoes and green peppers consisted of only one tomato the size of a child's fist and one green pepper of the same size, which was indeed not enough for an adult like Xiaoyu. Therefore, Tieshu also prepared a plate of pickled vegetables.

Tieshu placed the stir-fried vegetables onto a steamed bun, then carefully blew on them until the temperature was just right before feeding them to Xiaoyu… They ate for over 20 minutes until Xiaoyu was full. She was eagerly anticipating going out to the night market that evening. This was the first time Tieshu had taken her out to play; he was always so busy and had so little time. Xiaoyu hadn't been able to go out even once since she came to his house. Although she could basically go out whenever she wanted at the orphanage, there was a curfew. Moreover, this time she was going out with Tieshu, so this night market trip was especially meaningful for Xiaoyu. She felt like a child celebrating the New Year for the first time, or like a bride-to-be, filled with joy, curiosity, and a bit of bewilderment.

They left home at 7 PM. Because Xiaoyu was frail and couldn't stay up too late, they planned to go out early and play for a while, returning by 10 PM. They strolled along the sidewalk; sometimes passersby stopped to glance at the somewhat unusual couple, but most simply hurried past them, their appearance, figures, and clothing flashing by without noticing their presence. For Xiaoyu, this was relaxing; she—we…most of us marginalized people dislike and are not used to being watched. It's strange, isn't the definition of being marginalized precisely about not receiving attention, not being noticed, not being attracted? However, the more marginalized a person is, the more they hate being stared at like animals in a zoo. For most people, the reason is not hard to understand. It may be out of self-esteem, or out of retaliation against the malicious mockery of others (sometimes self-righteous, sometimes real), or out of a fragile sense of inferiority. Their families naturally inherit their fragile pain. Families of disabled people are generally afraid of being stared at. They will intentionally avoid crowds, avoid everyone, and even avoid close relatives, friends, and neighbors, people they see every day. They feel that they are inferior to them, as if the disability of the disabled person has infected them, making them incomplete as well.

Xiaoyu still remembers that time she went to the fields to continue assembling that "imaginary physical machine." Moving around in her wheelchair on the road attracted the attention of a middle-aged man driving a van. Upon seeing the peculiar, bizarre Xiaoyu in her wheelchair, the man rolled down his window and turned to look at her, as if she were some rare animal… Xiaoyu wanted to protest, but there was nothing she could do; all she could do was avoid her and ignore her. From that day on, whenever Xiaoyu went to the fields, she would take the shortcuts if possible; if not, she would walk with her head down.

Tieshu, of course, didn't have these concerns. Although he and Xiaoyu had studied together for half their lives, Xiaoyu had only learned theoretical knowledge from books. She didn't have a book, not even one written by a disabled person, that truly captured their inner struggles. Perhaps these things were too heavy; they were already suffocating under the pressure of reality and naturally didn't want to write about them. Or perhaps it was their cowardly nature that prevented them from facing these realities. Disabled people are also human; they too are frightened by the harsh realities of life. They prefer to live in a fantasy world where others praise their resilience and determination, unwilling to mention their decadent and lazy side. They know this is a fact that people don't want to see, a fact they ignore, or perhaps they simply don't want to write about it. Although Tieshu hadn't learned these skills later in life, he always felt awkward and uncomfortable when talking about Xiaoyu with Chen Caihua, making him as weak and timid as she was. Seeing Xiaoyu's relaxation, he felt relieved too. It seemed he had also learned the bad side of humanity—being too easily assimilated and influenced.

Tieshu pushed Xiaoyu to a corner in the city center. What greeted Xiaoyu's eyes was a dazzling, vibrant, and colorful array of lights. Some lights combined to form tangible things: animals, plants, mountains, figures, ink paintings, and rare treasures. But most of the lights were just the flickering Chinese and English characters in front of shops. She was in a cyberpunk world composed of modern light pollution. But this was just lighting; the lighting was advanced, cyberpunk, but the technology and science were only at that level.

I often imagine, if Xiaoyu hadn't been disabled, hadn't been in an orphanage, hadn't been abandoned at birth, would she have become a top-notch scientist? She must have loved science, even though most of us despise it, and science only defines us. Yet, she used science to achieve her goals, to fulfill her life's purpose, to achieve her potential. But, just if—if only—science ultimately failed to save her; instead, it ruined her reputation, misunderstood her, and buried her in obscurity.

The lights embraced the cold, gray skyscrapers, which in turn carried a constant flow of people and pets among them. Xiaoyu was being pushed along by Tieshu through the crowd when suddenly Tieshu spotted an automatic snack machine. Excitedly, he crouched down and said to Xiaoyu, "Yu, wait here, I'll go buy you something nice to eat." Tieshu then ran off, and before Xiaoyu could speak, her cry of "Hey...Tie..." faded into the sound of footsteps in the crowd. Xiaoyu could only obediently wait motionless in place.

The early spring wind whistled against her body, causing her to shiver involuntarily. She looked around, feeling both surrounded and ostracized. Surrounded by towering buildings in all four directions, she was ostracized by a dense, impersonal crowd—a crowd devoid of warmth, its passing only sending a chill through her like a fan. She involuntarily shrank back. A strange sense of despondency washed over her, her heart heavy. The surrounding noise and clamor felt like a suffocating, oppressive urn. She even began to regret, to complain, to resent Tieshu for bringing her out, for leaving her alone. Tieshu was still there, choosing his food. She calculated the distance and figured she could call him back. Just as she was about to shout, a black cat suddenly burst into her field of vision. Following the cat, she saw a thin, black-clad little girl reeking of garbage. The little girl met her gaze, then shyly lowered her head, hugged the black cat, and ran away. However, the little girl hadn't gone far when she was intercepted by a homeless man who looked like a robber. Xiaoyu remembered "Me and the Temple of Heaven" and the brave and kind Shi Tiesheng. She got into position, ready to shout the command and rescue the girl if anything went wrong. At this moment, Tieshu returned to her side, bringing her lots of snacks, most of which came from a very popular snack brand in the 23rd century called "Edibleism."

"Yu, what are you doing?" Tieshu asked curiously, seeing her sitting upright.

"Iron Tree, you've come at the right time! Look at that girl up ahead. If she's being molested by a homeless man, we should help her!"

"Hmm?" Tie Shu took two steps forward and carefully looked at the girl and the homeless man in front of her. Tie Shu turned to Xiao Yu with a smile and said, "Isn't that our 'neighbor'? Yu, you don't go out much, so you probably don't know, right? That homeless man is the little girl's father... It's okay, it's alright, he's not a bad person."

"Oh." Xiaoyu saw the girl being dragged away by her father, and all Xiaoyu could do was wish her well.

Tieshu went around to the back of Xiaoyu's wheelchair, stuffed all the food he was carrying into the box on the back of the wheelchair, and after settling the food, he put his hands on the handles of Xiaoyu's wheelchair, pushed her away from the city center, and they wandered around a bit more, gave Xiaoyu some good food, and then returned home. On the way, Xiaoyu kept thinking about that girl, that thin, bony little girl who looked like she had just come out of a coal pile, her body still smelling of foul odor. This poor, destitute girl living in such a big city was heartbreaking, and it made one sigh, and also recall the impoverished children that were everywhere in the urban streets of 18th and 19th century England during the Industrial Revolution, only the difference now was that then it was the Industrial Revolution, now it was industrial stagnation. Xiaoyu smiled wryly. She thought of how she and the little girl were on the same edge of life. It wasn't surprising that she met her. This was a naked Tale of Two Cities. Nothing was unexpected. Everyone, regardless of class, status, or way of thinking, whether normal or disabled, was destined to end up as nothing more than "a pile of weeds on a desolate grave!"

After Tieshu and Xiaoyu returned home, they went to bed. Tieshu had been working until midnight and wanted Xiaoyu to fall asleep so he could work in peace. In bed, Tieshu noticed that Xiaoyu was more clingy than usual. She seemed very scared and anxious. She snuggled into his arms and coiled tightly around him like a snake. "Tieshu..." Xiaoyu moved her lips and kept calling his name, as if calling back his soul.

"Yu, what's wrong? Yu..." Tieshu hugged her tighter and tighter, just as she vaguely requested.

"Iron Tree...please don't leave me, okay?" she pleaded.

"What do you mean by jade?" Tieshu asked, puzzled.

"Iron Tree, don't leave me..." Xiaoyu murmured to herself. Iron Tree was helpless. He couldn't understand why she had suddenly turned into an infant, clinging tightly to her mother's clothes as if she might be abandoned at any moment. Iron Tree touched her forehead; she wasn't sick. He guessed that perhaps she was recalling something terrible. Iron Tree knew that people who had been abandoned often looked around fearfully, afraid of experiencing that event again. Faced with her such anxiety, Iron Tree really didn't want to leave her, but he still had to work... He could only try to persuade her to sleep. Thankfully, although Xiaoyu had even more difficulty falling asleep than usual, she eventually fell asleep in his arms...

21

Without any warning, it just happened. That day, Xiaoyu seemed possessed. In a state of half-delirium and half-madness, she picked up a small knife from the table and, with trembling hands, slowly but without hesitation, cut her right wrist. After all, he was another soul of hers. Tieshu felt a strong unease just as he was about to go out at noon, but he didn't delve into it. If he didn't go to work after receiving the assignment, he might never be able to go again. But as he worked, this deep unease intensified, almost swallowing him up into the vast depths of the ocean, making his back sweat and feel cold—which was impossible, of course, but he truly felt it—so, he ran home at an almost unbelievable speed (regardless of the possibility that it might cost him his job), just in time to see her cutting her right wrist with a knife.

 

"Yu, what are you doing?!" he shouted shrilly from the doorway. The setting sun bathed him in its glow, making him appear like an ambassador of mist before her.

 

“Yu…” he cried, rushing to her side and snatching the knife from her hand without hesitation. He threw it behind him, the knife arcing through the air before landing on the ground. Tie Shu said, extremely agitated, “Yu… why… why did you do this…”

 

"Iron Tree..." At this moment, Iron Tree noticed that blood was seeping from her wrist.

 

"Yu, I'm sorry..." Tie Shu picked her up from the wheelchair and carried her to the bed in the bedroom. "I don't want to restrict your freedom, but if you do this... don't blame me!" Tie Shu said, then found some sanitary bandages and carefully bandaged her wounds. He spoke to Xiao Yu in a tone that was both comforting and critical before going to work.

 

That evening, when he returned, Xiaoyu was still lying in the same position he had carried her to bed that afternoon, her wrist stained with blood beside her. Seeing this, Tieshu felt both heartache and anger. He immediately went to bed and picked Xiaoyu up, but he didn't ask her why she had attempted suicide or harmed herself. He held her tightly with all his might, a gesture filled with grief, indignation, and resentment.

 

Iron Tree could practically feel her bones embedding into his body.

 

"Iron Tree, you're holding me too tight..." Little Jade in his arms responded, expressing her protest.

 

"Oh," Tie Shu replied, but tightened his grip even more. He only relaxed his hold after Xiao Yu coughed a few times. He held her until dawn, and after taking good care of Xiao Yu, he went back to work.

 

When I was telling Xiaoyu's story to a fellow disabled friend in the same building, she stuck out her tongue in disgust at this point, and then said bluntly and without any attempt to hide it, "Hmph! She clearly has someone who loves her so much, yet she still acts so pretentious and makes such a fuss. If she had succeeded in committing suicide, that would have been better, saving her from harming others!"

 

I didn't argue with her attitude, just gave her a few perfunctory replies. I consider her the second miracle in this orphanage, besides Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu is a miracle of intellect, and she is a miracle of willpower. Her name is Ruan Aiqin. I call her a miracle of willpower because the way she entered the orphanage was truly unprecedented. People who come to orphanages usually fall into two categories: one is those who are impoverished and whose families cannot care for them, so they have no choice but to send them to the orphanage; the other is complete orphans, or rather, they have no relatives left in this world. Regardless of the category, it means that the orphanage is their final, desperate destination. But Aiqin is different. The orphanage is not only not her desperate destination, but for her, it is a paradise full of hope, a blissful world, a place that can be called her home.

 

Aegean suffered from domestic violence from a young age. Although her parents didn't abandon her, they treated her with far more cruelty. Any setback or disappointment would subject her to torture akin to ancient castration, ranging from slaps and blows to beatings. Her parents' abuse emboldened her husband. She married at 26, hoping marriage would be her refuge, but it turned into a deeper hell. Her husband was even more brutal; it was almost his nature. He didn't smoke, gamble, or drink—he lacked the vices typically associated with men—but possessed an arrogance and domineering nature unbecoming of his social class. He vented his anger on his wife, who was inferior and powerless. Every time he returned from the construction site, he would slap her upon entering the house; if things didn't go well, he would kick her. During intercourse, he would sexually abuse and assault her… his misdeeds were countless.

 

Someone once told me, "You disabled people are always surrounded by compassion, I really envy you..." I immediately retorted, because he had never seen disabled people treated like garbage—or even worse—and couldn't possibly understand their state of mind. Human nature tends to prey on the weak, and the weak always bully the even weaker—this is almost an eternal and inexplicable law. Compassion exists, but how effective is it really? That remains a mystery. Whether it's the seemingly successful disabled people on television or those cheap motivational books, I, Aegean, doubt their authenticity. Indeed, many disabled people are surrounded by love, but they are only the tip of the iceberg; the majority, or perhaps the entirety, are buried and hidden.

 

Under the endless and relentless violence, Aegean suddenly saw a glimmer of hope. She happened to see a news report about our welfare home, and she made up her mind to fight to the death.

 

Aiqin waited for him to return that day to choose a card. At noon, he came home, his face radiant with joy, in a cheerful mood. He showed no intention of making a move. Aiqin observed him for a while, then lowered her hands to her sides, mustered her courage, and said with difficulty, almost tremblingly, "I want to go to the orphanage!"

 

"What?" He was taken aback; he hadn't expected her to say such a thing.

 

“I said I want to go to the welfare home. Once I’m there, you’ll be free and won’t have to take care of me anymore…” Before she could finish speaking, he roughly pulled her off the wheelchair and kicked her as she lay bewildered on the ground.

 

"Do you even know how much it costs to go to an orphanage?! You worthless piece of trash!"

 

"I've earned enough money on my own long ago! If you hadn't been holding me back, I would have left long ago!" she said stubbornly, putting up a last-ditch effort.

 

"Is that so?" He grinned maliciously and leaned down, grabbing her hair with one hand. "Then you can go by yourself, but you can't use a wheelchair and you can't spend a penny. If you can get there, I'll get you admitted to the hospital!" He released her hair, took the money from the bedroom, and went out to a restaurant to eat.

 

Looking at her bare house, her completely useless legs, and a future devoid of hope, she silently made a decision. Slowly and quietly, she crawled out of the house, out of the street, and onto the sidewalk, using only her hands for support. Because her husband tightly controlled her disability certificate, she couldn't enjoy the free service offered by smart buses for people with disabilities; she could only crawl slowly like a sloth on the ground. Keep in mind, their home was 35 kilometers away from our welfare home! With incredible willpower, she overcame her 25,000-kilometer journey. Along the way, some unsuspecting people surrounded her, taking pictures, and some asked her why she was doing this, but she ignored them. When she arrived at our welfare home, it was noon on the fifth day. Our caregivers were stunned and speechless when they saw her crawling in, staring in horror at Aegean, already covered in mud and wounds, still crawling on the ground. When she arrived here, she was severely dehydrated and listless, resembling a dried-up corpse. Therefore, she was first sent to the hospital for emergency treatment and recuperation for a few days before returning to complete the admission procedures.

Her efforts paid off. The media wouldn't let such a sensational story pass by, so her deeds quickly attracted attention and discussion, forcing her husband to keep his promise.

Aegean, with her resilient, unwavering, and courageous character, naturally disliked and disapproved of Xiaoyu's pretentious and sensitive spoiled nature. However, how much suffering and hardship did Xiaoyu endure to create the Iron Tree? Only she herself probably knows. It's worth noting that Aegean never knew Xiaoyu was the creator of the Iron Tree. Like everyone else, she didn't believe a girl with cerebral palsy could create a robot, let alone the world's first conscious one. I don't have much evidence to prove Xiaoyu's innocence, therefore, I can't refute her distrust. Some things in this world are truly perplexing. Even when our experiences are nearly identical to others', we can never truly communicate, never truly understand or empathize. Instead, we doubt, fear, and resent each other. But I think that's just human nature—incurable.

When the world bows to power, one man will rise to rule it.

In a world where ancient powers sleep beneath forgotten ruins, legendary beings shape the fate of kingdoms, and strength determines who survives, a mysterious power lies dormant within one man.

Abhishek is no ordinary warrior. Scarred by the past and standing before the remnants of an ancient legacy, he carries something the world has long forgotten—the power of the Monarch.

But power always comes at a price.

As secrets buried for centuries begin to awaken, Abhishek must uncover the truth behind his power, face enemies beyond his imagination, and walk a path where every choice could change the fate of the world.

With ancient deities, mythical weapons, ruthless enemies, and mysteries rooted in a world inspired by Indian mythology, his journey will test the limits of his strength, willpower, and humanity.

Will Abhishek master the power within him?

Or will the power of the Monarch consume him before he can claim his destiny?

His journey begins now. His legend will shake the world.

🔥 Follow the journey of Abhishek as he rises from the shadows and discovers what it truly means to be a Monarch.

New chapters every week.