“That was… the Yasha?” Casper muttered in disbelief.
Alois quickly stepped forward and grabbed Joshua’s wrist. “Did it hurt you?”
The wound on Joshua’s cheek had stopped bleeding, but the dark red scar and dried blood were still shockingly visible. “…I’m fine,” he said, dazed, his eyes fixated on the bloodstains on his hand, his intense gaze almost as if he could burn the deep crimson marks with his eyes alone. Then he looked away, turning his attention to the computer in the control room.
A large black screen was embedded in the wall, surrounded by complex cables and various circuit boards that an ordinary person could not comprehend. Joshua staggered over to the screen, looking both excited and disbelieving.
The screen displayed two lines of white text. The first read, “You have a new message”, and the second, “From Kester”.
After Joshua had activated the research facility’s system, this message had automatically been sent to the auxiliary control room’s computer according to the settings made by the sender long ago. After lying dormant on a sealed server for two thousand years, it had finally reached its intended recipient.
Joshua hesitantly raised his hand to tap the confirmation key, then quickly pulled back as if shocked.
The two lines of text disappeared, and Kester appeared on the screen.
He was wearing his usual white lab coat, his silver hair neatly combed, and his black eyes still as gentle as ever. His face looked almost the same as Joshua remembered, though it was clearly more worn by time. The years had left their unforgiving marks on him.
He smiled at the camera, and the smile was exactly as Joshua remembered.
“Joshua, by the time you see this video, I will no longer be in this world.”
The familiar voice filled Joshua’s ears, stirring memories that had settled deep within him but had never truly been at peace. These memories surged like boiling lava, churning violently and disrupting Joshua’s long-sought tranquility, while also searing his heart with pain.
“If you’ve returned to Earth, to the research facility, this video would automatically be sent to the nearest computer.” A bitter smile formed on Kester’s lips. “Even now, I still have so much I want to say to you. You’re probably going to laugh at me for that. I was so cold when I sent you away, but now I desperately want you to come back and hear what I have to say. Go ahead and laugh if you want. Curse me, hate me—whatever you feel like doing. Given your personality, you probably want to kill me. But by the time you see this, your brother will already be dead, so you won’t get the chance to kill me again.”
“How are you doing now, Joshua? Although, even if you told me, I wouldn’t be able to hear you. If the technology in the colonies advanced smoothly, inventing a powerful warp engine, then returning to Earth might be a simple task. It took you two thousand years to reach the colonies, but it only took you a few days to return. Just thinking about it feels so ironic.”
“What do you look like now? Are you still young? Your brother has grown old. Not just in body—my mind has aged far faster than my body, and I now live only in regret and remorse, passing every long day and night with nothing but memories.”
“I want to apologize to you, Joshua. I want to ask for your forgiveness. I sent you into space with my own hands, and now I’m hoping you’ll come back. Even I think it’s despicable and undeserving of sympathy. But I still want to seek your forgiveness. I’m confessing to you, Joshua. I want to earn your pardon, to bring even the slightest comfort to my endlessly tormented soul. If anyone in this world can forgive me, it must be you.”
“I’ve done many wrongs in my life and failed many people. But the person I’ve wronged the most is you, my brother. It was my selfishness that sent you on the most hopeless journey in the world. I even tried to justify it with excuses like ‘I hope you live’ or ‘I hope you can witness the future for me.’ It’s truly unforgivable. I promised you a future, yet my actions might very well have destroyed it.”
“Joshua, did you know that I created a monster? You might have heard its name from Giorgione or Titian. It’s called the Yasha, and it was the product of an experiment gone wrong. I originally intended to create a powerful weapon to help our home planet, Earth, reclaim the colonies. But instead, I created a weapon capable of destroying humanity. I’ve tried many ways to reverse or destroy it, but all have failed without exception. I chose to stay on Earth to find a way to completely destroy it, but I know that I likely won’t achieve this goal in my lifetime. To be honest, when I sent Giorgione and everyone else to the colonies, including you, I was harboring the hope that someone in the future would be more capable than I am and would find a way to destroy the Yasha. This should have been my responsibility, but I passed it on to you. Now, my only hope rests on you. Please forgive my incompetence, Joshua. This is all I can do.”
“The central computer in the research facility contains all the records about the Yasha, but they probably won’t be of much use. The Yasha was an accidental creation, and such an accident is nearly impossible to replicate. What you need to know is that the Yasha’s destructive power is beyond your imagination, and none of the weapons I’ve found can harm it. Its sole purpose is to kill and destroy, and it knows nothing else. It is not bound by time or space and can move freely between them—this is what makes it truly terrifying. Fortunately, I’ve found a way to limit its movements. I created a field that confines it to a specific area. It cannot break through the field or destroy the field generators. This is all I could accomplish. The data on the field is stored in the central computer, and there’s a backup on the Dante as well, so Giorgione and the others can continue the research when they reach the colonies.”
“One more thing to note: The Yasha’s killing and destruction are not without patterns. First, it only kills humans and destroys man-made objects. It never harms animals, plants, or natural objects. Second, in the same time and space, it prioritizes destroying the things that pose the greatest threat to it. In your era, the warp engine, which has ‘transcending time and space’ capabilities similar to the Yasha’s, is likely to be its primary target. If a more powerful weapon emerges in the future, it too will likely be a priority for the Yasha to destroy.”
“And finally, the Yasha won’t harm me. I am its creator, and in its eyes, I am not ‘human’. If it harmed me, it would be acknowledging that its creator is human, making it a human creation, and thus it would be compelled to self-destruct. This is a paradox. Therefore, even if I stand before it unarmed, it has never harmed me. And you, Joshua, share my blood, so the Yasha won’t harm you either. This is your unique advantage. That’s why I ask you, if in the future, people find a way to destroy the Yasha, please carry out that task on my behalf. Consider it my last wish. Even if you hate me, please fulfill this one request.”
“…There’s one more thing. If you ever meet Leo in the future, tell him he’s free. I didn’t bring him into this world to control him. I hoped he could save us. An AI’s lifespan is long, and I am already dead. The dead have no reason to imprison the living. I couldn’t fulfill his expectations, and for that, I’m sorry. I hope he can bravely pursue whatever he desires. The pursuit of happiness is a right everyone is born with, and it’s the same for him.”
“That’s all I have to say. I’ve rambled on and on, and you probably think I’m being long-winded. But please, let me say just one last thing, Joshua. Know that among all the living people in this world, the one I love and miss the most is you, my brother. I hope you will always be happy and find joy in life.”
As Joshua descended the steep stairs underground, it felt as though he were walking down a path leading to the deepest recesses of his memory. The place was dark and deep, yet quiet and warm, like a mother’s womb. He recalled the first time he visited this grand research facility as a young, bewildered child. Kester had personally shown him every corner, both above and below ground. After the tour, Kester had held his hand as they walked up this very emergency passage. “Remember, Joshua, if you ever encounter danger in the underground lab, use this passage to escape.” Back then, Kester had been much taller, and Joshua had to stretch his arm as far as it would go to grasp his brother’s hand.
Now, he had returned, walking the same path but in the opposite direction.
The darkness enveloped Joshua, and each step he took seemed to lead him further into the abyss of his memories. Every corner of this place bore Kester’s mark; the walls, the ceiling, and the stairs all silently recounted the past, so loud in their recollections that it nearly drove him mad.
A hand grabbed him from behind.
Joshua reflexively reached for his gun, but in the next instant, his hand was firmly held. The cold metal of the grip snapped him out of his memories and back to reality.
“…Alois?”
“You look really off.” Alois looked at him with concern. “What’s wrong? What are you afraid of?”
“…Just nervous, that’s all.” Joshua’s mouth felt dry. He holstered his gun. “Let’s go. The first auxiliary control room is just ahead. We can rest there for a bit. According to Captain Yutz’s records, he activated the defense system when he fled the lab, which completely shut down the central control room. It will take me some time to reopen it.” He patted Alois’s hand to assure him he was fine. For some reason, a few steps away, Casper was watching him with a look of intrigued amusement.
The emergency passage continued downward, ending at a steel gate. This gate was controlled by the central computer and would automatically open in the event of a crisis in the facility. It couldn’t be opened from the outside unless the facility’s owner issued a special command.
Now, the owner of the facility stood before the gate. Embedded in the center of the gate was a contact panel. Joshua removed his spacesuit glove and placed his right hand on the panel. Infrared light immediately scanned his fingerprints and retina. The scanned data was transmitted at the speed of light to the central computer, where it was compared with stored records. Out of the hundreds of billions of records, one matched the visitor’s data perfectly: Joshua Salaregia, younger brother of Kester Salaregia, the facility’s previous owner. Following Kester’s recorded death, according to Old Earth law, Joshua had become the new owner of the facility.
“Verification complete. Name: Joshua Salaregia. Status: Intern at Euclid Laboratory, highest authority holder of the Salaregia Research Facility.”
The gate opened in response.
Joshua turned and said, “All clear, let’s go.”
Alois clicked his tongue. “Highest authority holder, huh? Sounds impressive…” His words were cut off as he froze, staring in terror at something behind Joshua, unable to make a sound.
“What is it?” Joshua asked, puzzled, as he turned to look into the first auxiliary control room beyond the gate—then he too froze.
He saw himself.
Standing before the giant computer in the control room was Joshua as he had been at fourteen, staring back at him across the vast chasm of time. It was indeed the face from his memories, bearing the youthful awkwardness of adolescence, with hair meticulously tied back in imitation of his brother. The boy’s eyes shone like an eclipse, and in those clear eyes, Joshua saw his own reflection.
Alois and Casper were dumbstruck. They had been prepared to encounter a horde of robots, alien monsters, or even the Duke’s men when the door opened. But nothing could have prepared them for this—a younger version of Joshua standing behind the door. “Is this… a hologram? Or… a real person?”
The young Joshua solemnly began to walk toward them, his footsteps echoing through the control room, slow and deliberate, like a member of a funeral procession, carrying a deep sense of regret.
Joshua gripped his gun but didn’t know whether to draw it. What on earth was he seeing?
As he hesitated, the boy’s body turned into a mist that slowly rose and coalesced into another human shape. This figure was tall, dressed in a white lab coat, with silver hair cascading over his shoulders and eyes as dark as night—apart from that, he looked almost exactly like Joshua!
“Kes…Kester!”
Joshua’s voice was almost a groan. A choking pain seized his chest, as if an invisible hand had tightened around his heart. He realized he was crying, but when the tears ran down his cheeks, he couldn’t tell if they were tears of overwhelming joy or screams of terror.
Kester extended his hand toward him, as if inviting him closer, or perhaps to caress his cheek.
Everything was exactly as it was in his memories.
“No—!” Joshua screamed as he drew his gun, shoving Alois back as he fired. He couldn’t let Alois get hurt!
The laser beam passed through Kester’s body as though it were a stone dropped into a pond, rippling through him.
With all his strength, Joshua shouted, “Watch out! It’s the Yasha!”
The ripples on Kester’s form spread wider, and then his entire body turned back into mist. This time, the mist didn’t coalesce into a human figure but instead transformed into a nearly three-meter-tall monstrous humanoid. Its skeletal structure and muscles were made of steel, glinting silver-gray under the control room lights. Crimson veins crisscrossed its body, wrapping around its steel frame like a blood-red map. Transparent feathers covered its shoulders, extending from its ribs down to its ankles like icy wings. Its head was a multifaceted prism, each face smooth and gleaming, reflecting an imposing and inviolable light. On that head were two irregular holes—its eyes—burning with a fiery red glow, as if molten lava smoldered within.
The creature—Yasha—slowly walked toward them, as if it had traversed endless ages and epochs to finally arrive at this moment.
It stopped in front of Joshua, opening what could only be described as a mouth, and emitted a strange sound—a blend of sharp, clashing swords and grinding metal, yet with a distinct rhythm and melody.
It roared. It laughed. It howled. It sang. It screamed.
This was the Yasha, a being that transcended all time and space, the ultimate killing machine designed to annihilate humanity.
Confronted with its true form, Joshua found himself too paralyzed with fear to even pull the trigger. In the reflective surface of the Yasha’s head, he saw his own reflection—small and insignificant, less than an ant.
He saw his own end.
The Yasha reached out its arm, covered in spikes, its five fingers as sharp as blades, capable of slicing through metal with ease. Joshua expected those razor-sharp claws to pierce his heart, but to his surprise, the Yasha merely brushed his cheek, leaving a shallow cut. Blood seeped out and dripped onto its claws.
In the span of a single breath, the Yasha vanished.
The control room was empty, except for the three terrified humans. Even the strange sounds had stopped, leaving only the hum of the giant computer.
Joshua felt all his strength drain away, his gun slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor, but he had no will to retrieve it.
Was that just… a hallucination?
His cheek still stung. When he touched it, his hand came away covered in blood.
After all these years, Earth was no longer the place Joshua remembered. Two thousand years might be a blink of an eye for Earth, but for humanity, it was long enough to topple a hundred empires and establish a hundred new ones. With the receding seas, the shape of the land had changed significantly. What were once scattered archipelagos had now merged into continuous landmasses, and previously low hills were now covered in snow.
The craft flew westward along the equator, crossing vast oceans, and arrived over what seemed to be the largest island. Joshua still remembered when the island was covered with subtropical evergreen plants, but now it had transformed into temperate vegetation and alpine shrubs. The once visible roads and airports were overgrown with dense plants, the cities eroded into ruins, and the high-rise buildings were now dilapidated, mottled, and covered in moss and vines.
Joshua’s hand trembled violently on the instrument panel. He had mentally prepared himself for how his home planet might look but seeing it with his own eyes was still shocking—like a dream where his homeland had turned into a desolate grave, only to wake up and find himself still young.
Time had only passed for a few decades for Joshua, but on Old Earth, ages had gone by.
The craft skimmed over the tombstone-like buildings, heading towards the outskirts of the city, where Kester’s research facility was located. Joshua remembered that there had been a parking lot near the research center. He wondered if it still existed after all these years. He flew the craft low, and soon enough, he spotted a clearing in the forest. The asphalt ground was cracked, overgrown with thick weeds and numerous flowers Joshua couldn’t identify—likely new species that had evolved on Earth over the past two thousand years.
He landed the craft in a corner of the clearing, activated the optical camouflage, and then opened the canopy to jump to the ground.
“So heavy…” the assassin complained. The Earth’s gravity felt like an invisible hand dragging his body downward. Even the gravity grid on the ship hadn’t felt this heavy. Most ships only operated at three-quarters of a G. Having grown accustomed to that, the gravity of his home planet now felt unfamiliar.
Alois and Casper didn’t seem to have as much trouble adjusting as he did. Both had undergone rigorous military training and were well-practiced in switching between gravity and zero-gravity environments.
“Is this your homeland?” Alois asked, looking around. A grayish-brown finch chirped from a nearby tree branch, the breeze rustling through the leaves. Joshua remembered that it was spring in the northern hemisphere of Earth—a time of flourishing life, bright sunshine, and abundant vitality, far from the image of a desolate, abandoned planet.
“She’s changed a lot,” Joshua replied. “In the past, Earth’s sky was always shrouded in dust, the oceans filled with debris and corpses, and the land was heavily polluted. Only a few islands were fit for human habitation. By the colonists’ standards, she was no longer suitable for human life and was classified as ‘extinct’.”
“You can’t tell that now,” Alois said, whistling at the bird in the tree. It flapped its wings and flew away.
“Given enough time, she healed herself.”
That was fortunate, Joshua thought. In the past Galactic Wars, countless planets had been destroyed by nuclear bombs and antimatter missiles, with no life left on them.
“Where do we go now?” Casper asked as he checked his weapons—two pistols, two knives, plenty of energy packs, and a few high-energy timed explosives. He tapped his helmet, which displayed various environmental data and a small map.
“I’m sending you the map of Kester’s research facility.” Joshua fiddled with the communication terminal on his wrist. “It’s synthesized from the data recorded by Leo and Captain Yutz’s ‘Ancient Earth Expedition Log’. It should be accurate.”
Casper received the data transfer, and a 3D map of the facility appeared before his eyes. “Were there still people on Earth after you left?”
“Yes. Kester and his core research team stayed here, probably about a dozen people.”
When Joshua left, Kester was in his prime. Now, he was surely long dead, buried beneath the soil.
He would never see his brother again.
A hallucination seemed to flicker before Joshua’s eyes. In his youth, he had found an injured squirrel in the forest and had run all the way to the research facility with the poor creature in his arms. Kester, dressed in white, knelt in front of him, his golden eyes shining like sunlight.
You can heal him. His brother had said. Didn’t you study medical techniques for this very moment?
Kester is dead!
Joshua shook his head violently to dispel the ghostly illusion. “Let’s go,” he managed to say with difficulty.
Alois quickly caught up to him and took his hand. “What’s wrong, Joshua?” he asked, concerned. “You look pale.”
“It’s nothing.” The assassin forced a weak smile. “Just… overcome with emotion.”
They pushed through the undergrowth, heading towards the research facility. The white dome of the building emerged above the treetops, weathered and ancient after two thousand years of erosion, covered in moss and vines.
The above-ground part of the research facility was just a three-story domed structure. It looked more like a museum than a scientific laboratory. But in reality, it was only the tip of the iceberg. The true heart of the facility was hidden underground. A vast subterranean complex, it housed Kester’s most important research materials and achievements. There was a massive computer to support Leonard’s operations, equipment used to create the Yasha, and the machinery capable of generating the field that restricted Yasha’s movements.
Over a century ago, Captain Jacob Yutz had gone through great hardships to break into the underground facility, copying the Yasha’s data at the cost of nearly his entire crew. Now, the explorer’s journal served as Joshua’s vital guide on his journey home.
“We’re not the only ones with a map,” Joshua informed the other two. “Although Duke Winnet didn’t get the chip with the Yasha’s data, he does have Captain Yutz’s ‘Ancient Earth Expedition Log’. He also knows the layout of the facility.”
“So we don’t have the advantage of the terrain,” Casper said regretfully.
The three of them stood at the edge of the forest, facing the research facility hidden among the trees. The main entrance was gone, seemingly destroyed by an explosion that appeared to have happened many years ago. Vines and shrubs had invaded the entrance, growing freely inside, but there were signs that the vegetation had been recently trampled—someone had gotten there ahead of them.
“Not necessarily,” Joshua said with a smile, seeing the state of the main entrance. “Captain Yutz had blown open the main entrance to get into the facility, which triggered an attack by the security robots. Even after all these years, the facility’s self-defense systems are still intact, so the intruders who came before us must have encountered some trouble. But we can take another route. I know an emergency exit that leads directly underground.”
He gestured for the others to follow him. “And we won’t be attacked by the defense systems.”
The research facility was Kester’s legacy, and it naturally belonged to his rightful heir. Why would the defense systems attack their master?
In the thin nebula at the outskirts of the Damoni star system, two armies faced off. Princess Alveira led the Royal Fleet, while Duke Winnet commanded the National Salvation Army. Both were forces arrayed in battle formation, awaiting their commanders’ orders to fight to the death.
“Grisofin is on the left flank, Chast is on the right, and Winnet himself is on the front lines. It seems he’s not planning to leave any escape route for himself.”
On the bridge of the Lady of the Night, Alveira observed the battle simulation map in front of her. “Leo, can you connect me to Winnet before the battle begins?”
“You want to speak with him?” the AI asked. “Do you want to connect directly to him, or send a communication request to his flagship?”
“A communication request. I want to speak to him face to face.”
Leo formally sent an invitation to Duke Winnet’s flagship, “Stella”, to initiate a superluminal real-time communication. A few seconds later, the gray-haired Duke Winnet appeared on the screen on the bridge.
“On the brink of battle, you want to speak with me? Are you asking me to show mercy, my dear niece?”
“Quite the opposite, my dear uncle. I’m issuing you a final ultimatum.” Alveira raised her voice. “And it’s directed at all of you: If you surrender to me now, I’ll spare your lives. Otherwise, you can expect the first executions in the Empire in 740 years!”
Winnet burst into laughter. “Alveira, my child, out of respect for your youth, I won’t kill you. How about I send you to the Maple Pavilion to keep Musaya company? That’s generous enough, isn’t it?”
“Musaya will likely be heartbroken,” Alveira replied without the slightest hint of anger. “Not only do I have no intention of joining her, but I’m also going to kill her dear father. She’s bound to hate me for it.”
Winnet’s expression darkened. “Then we’ll see how things turn out on the battlefield, where strength will speak.”
“I understand, Winnet. ‘Whoever holds power, holds the right to speak.'”
The communication ended. On the battle simulation map, the enemy formation began to stir and advance towards the Royal Fleet.
“Engage!” Alveira shouted, then lowered her voice but spoke with unwavering resolve. “With me!”
Leo broadcasted her every word throughout the entire fleet.
……
Titia climbed into her beloved craft, “Fran”, and gave a thumbs-up to Spider Maxim, who stood on the transport platform. Spider returned the gesture in kind.
“I’ve made some modifications to Fran, increasing its speed and agility,” Spider said through the communicator, “but it also reduced its ammo capacity. Be mindful.”
“No problem.” Titia pulled down her helmet visor. “Speed surpasses legions.” She waved her right hand over a row of illuminated keys, activating them all simultaneously. “Lady of the Night, Fran, launching!”
“Gunners, ready!”
“Adjusting coordinates!”
“Targeting calculations!”
Ibb Descartes sat amidst the swirling data streams, lightning-fast coordinates flashing before him. He easily adjusted each number, directing the ship’s cannons towards the enemy.
“Main cannon energy charging!”
“Hey, are you guys scared?”
Chef Celia had swapped her apron for a combat suit and sat in the waiting room with a submachine gun in hand. Next to her were Pavlov and Schrödinger, strapped to their seats. The cat and dog, sensing the impending battle, were howling in agitation.
“Don’t worry, we’ll win this,” Celia reassured them, whether they understood her or not. “All our comrades are here—Ibb, Spider, Titia, Errol, Udino…” She pressed a hand to her chest. “And the Captain.”
If only your masters were here too.
……
“So this is it…” Alois held his breath, gazing at the white lunar base before him. Tall pillars and graceful domes made the place look more like a palace than a space station. The Northern Cross slowly moved into the base’s dock, guided by indicator lights.
The silence here was overwhelming—not the oppressive darkness of Charon Station, but a solemn stillness, like that of a tomb.
Charon was the underworld, and the lunar base is a grave.
Alois shivered.
The crescent-shaped doors slid open to reveal the dock beyond. It too was vast and empty, with high arches and silver tracks on the ground, indicating it once housed several large ships. Compared to them, the Northern Cross was like a dinghy beside an ocean liner. In a corner, a few small crafts lay abandoned, capable of holding at most four people each.
“There used to be ships here that could travel between the stars,” Joshua said, looking at the empty space in the dock. “The first and second waves of Earth’s survivors left aboard them.”
Alois docked the Northern Cross at the center of the bay. “I bet there’s no air out there,” he muttered. “Do we need spacesuits?”
“Even on Earth, we’ll probably need them,” Casper said eagerly. “After two thousand years, Earth’s atmosphere might have changed.”
“…What’s there to be so excited about?” Alois shot him a look.
After donning their spacesuits, Alois shut off the engine as Leo had instructed, and the three men floated out of the ship through the auxiliary exit. The Moon’s gravity, only one-sixth of Earth’s, wasn’t full weightlessness, which frustrated Alois for a while. In the end, they jumped across the dock like clowns on springs toward the corner.
The craft parked there was so rudimentary that Alois was stunned. It was also silver-white, but compared to the Bard, it was like comparing a child’s clay model to a master’s sculpture.
“It’s not just a caveman’s club!” Alois said in despair. “It’s practically a paramecium!”
“If you don’t like it, don’t get in,” Joshua said as he opened the craft’s transparent canopy and agilely jumped in, taking the pilot’s seat. Casper gave Alois a helpless smile and also jumped into the back seat.
“You can’t be serious! Do you understand how I feel?” Alois shouted. “It’s like being a world-renowned assassin, like the Mourner, and someone paying you to kill a chicken! It’s an insult! Do you get that? An insult!”
Joshua started the engine.
“Hey! You jerk! Wait for me!” Alois hurriedly climbed into the craft, settling beside Casper.
His old school friend still wore that helpless smile. “Just think of it as a life experience.”
Alois slammed the canopy shut, scooting close to Casper and draping an arm around his shoulders. “We haven’t caught up in years, Casper. Remember when we stayed up all night on that field trip…”
A sudden wave of murderous intent surged from the front seat. Casper’s smile vanished immediately.
The craft slowly ascended, soon surpassing the Northern Cross’s height. “Diana,” Joshua called softly. “Diana, open the external passage.”
At the end of the silver tracks on the ground, a white door responded by sliding open, seamlessly blending into the dock’s wall until it moved.
“Who’s Diana?” Alois asked.
“The lunar base’s AI. In Old Earth mythology, she was also the goddess of the moon.”
Beyond the white door was a decompression chamber. As the craft passed through, the door closed silently behind them. With no air in the chamber, another door quickly opened.
Joshua’s heart pounded. He dared not fly too fast, fearing he might miss something, even though he knew there was nothing here. The craft had no display screens, and through the transparent canopy, he saw the black sky and the pale lunar surface ahead. As they rose higher, at the edge of the pale ground, a dark blue planet floated in the void.
Joshua remembered that when he left his home planet, most of its land was swallowed by the rising oceans, with cities turned into underwater ruins and mountains reduced to scattered islands. Now, the polar ice caps had reformed, lowering the sea level and revealing the submerged lands. It took Joshua a long time to recall the map of his homeland from the rugged contours of the continents.
“Do you still remember the way?” Alois asked absentmindedly, his eyes fixed on the blue planet, almost forgetting where he was.
“Of course,” Joshua’s voice was hoarse. “How could I forget?”
He piloted the craft towards Earth, leaving the white lunar base far behind. A faint whisper reached his ears. “Welcome home.”
Though he knew it was just the AI Diana’s pre-programmed response, Joshua was still moved to tears.
After two thousand years, the last survivors of Earth had finally returned home.
“We can’t intercept them, Your Highness. They’re too fast!” Leo was sweating himself. “If the pilots of the Lady of the Night were at Sword Bow A, we might have been able to stop them, but now it’s too late to send reinforcements… Your Highness! They’ve broken through the planetary defense perimeter!”
Alveira’s clenched fists turned white at the knuckles. “What is Winnet trying to say with this? Is he trying to show me that he can also capture my territory through a surprise attack?”
“Your Highness! They’ve dropped bombs!” Leo shouted in alarm. “They’ve dropped two antimatter missiles on the capital of Sword Bow A!”
On the simulation map, a swath of red flashed. The capital of Sword Bow A had suffered severe damage, turning into a dark purple area on the map.
“This… Damn it!” Alveira could hardly believe her eyes. The Royal Fleet had just left Sword Bow A, and now it was under attack by the rebels… and they even dropped two antimatter missiles on the planet’s capital…
“The enemy transport ship has been shot down by the planetary forces, and their flight squadron is surrounded by the garrison!”
With their mothership destroyed, the flight squadron had only three options: surrender, be shot down, or crash due to running out of fuel.
“Your Highness, the flight squadron has surrendered!”
Alveira stared at the flashing red lights on the simulation map, saying nothing. Everything had happened so quickly—in less than a minute, the Royal Fleet’s rear base had been attacked, and the attackers had quickly surrendered. Leo, thinking the Princess had not yet reacted, softly repeated, “Your Highness, they have surrendered… The enemy pilots said they brought a message from Winnet…” His voice was almost a whisper because Alveira’s expression was so terrifying, as fierce as an enraged beast.
“What did the old man say?”
Leo relayed the enemy pilot’s message exactly. “I bring a message from the Duke to the esteemed Princess. The Duke says this is the punishment for the Sword Bow star system that betrayed him. He also says he looks forward to facing you in the Damoni star system.”
After the message finished playing, Leo asked in an even smaller voice, “Your Highness, the enemy pilots have disarmed and are requesting to be treated as prisoners of war…”
“No surrender accepted!” The Princess growled in a low voice. “Shoot them down! Leave none alive!”
“But… But Your Highness, this violates the interstellar convention…”
“They dropped antimatter missiles on a city—did they follow the interstellar convention?” Alveira pointed furiously at the star map. “Since they dared to do this right under my nose, they should have prepared to die! Winnet is trying to cut off my retreat! Does he want to force me into a death match with him? I’m not that foolish!” She laughed in anger. “Leo, announce to the national media: the rebels launched a surprise attack on Sword Bow A, dropped two antimatter missiles, and then surrendered, but Alveira Chabais did not accept the surrender and killed them all! Just announce it like that! I want to see whether more people blame me or spit on Winnet!”
……
On the bronze outer wall of Charon Station, a heavy door spiraled open. The Northern Cross starship carefully maneuvered through the door, with Alois at the helm, more nervous than when piloting a fighter into enemy lines.
Behind the door was a cylindrical passageway, its walls smooth and seamless, as if made from a single piece of metal. Two white light strips embedded on either side illuminated the dim space station.
“This place really feels eerie,” Casper remarked, his tone filled with wonder and anticipation, devoid of any real sense of eeriness.
“Charon Station, named after Charon, the moon of Pluto. In ancient Earth mythology, Charon was the ferryman who transported souls across the River Styx to the underworld,” Joshua explained. “It’s only natural for it to feel a bit eerie.”
Alois nearly pressed the wrong button out of nerves. “Don’t scare me like that!” he shouted. “I might just crash the ship into the wall!”
“Then we’d truly be heading to the underworld.”
After leaving the passageway, the ship entered a vast space. There was no lighting here, possibly to save energy, or perhaps the lighting system had broken down over the centuries. Alois turned on the searchlights, and four beams of white light pierced the dark void. This enormous spherical space took up nearly half of Charon Station. The passageway they had just exited was only a small corner of it. The sphere was filled with countless passageways and platforms, with a large metallic ring suspended in the center—large enough for a battleship to pass through—likely a warp gate.
One could imagine how busy this space station must have been during the peak of Old Earth. Every passage would have seen traffic, with moving platforms transporting people and goods through numerous doors and the warp gate operating 24/7, sending countless ships to the Mars base and the lunar base.
Now, it was abandoned, with nothing left inside but the dust and memories of millennia, and…
“Cerberus, Guardian of Hades, at your service,” the synthesized, inorganic voice echoed again. “Shall I activate the lunar warp gate?”
“Yes,” Joshua replied.
This was a low-level AI controlling Charon’s central computer, more like a sophisticated program than a true AI. It had no self-awareness, no simulated personality, and no emotions. Apart from numbers, it had no concept of time. The return of Earth’s last survivors was, to it, merely the return of a long-absent wanderer. It was a loyal sentinel, still guarding its post after the land and nation had crumbled, because that was its purpose.
Joshua thought of Leo. For an AI, being like Cerberus, Guardian of Hades, wasn’t such a bad fate.
As the metallic ring powered up, it began to vibrate. If the station were filled with air, Joshua and the others would have heard a deep rumble, like the first roar of an ancient beast awakening from a long slumber, shaking the soul.
The center of the ring turned black, impenetrable even by the searchlights. The warp gate had opened, ready to transport light itself.
“Hurry,” Joshua urged Alois.
“Huh? Just fly straight through?” The young pilot was at a loss as he pulled the control lever. Long ago, Earth’s colonists had built countless such warp relay stations across the vast Milky Way, and the First Galactic War had destroyed most of them. After Earth’s survivors reached the colonies, some were restored. But centuries before Alois was born, warp engines were invented, and since then, these ancient relay stations had been abandoned. People could travel the universe more conveniently and had no need for these relics.
Alois, like a novice driver under the scrutiny of an instructor and examiner, carefully maneuvered the ship into the ring. As they passed through the gate, a slight dizziness struck Alois, and everything went black. When he regained his vision, a completely different space from Charon Station lay before him.
Charon had been cold and dark, but here everything was stark white. White warp gates, white walls, white passageways, and white lights. Beyond the pale base was a vast, white expanse of lunar soil.
This was the Moon, the place where humanity first left its cradle and stepped into the cosmos.
On the Standard Calendar date of April 29th, the Empire Royal Navy’s main fleet departed from the Sword Bow star system, heading towards the Damoni star system, where the Winnet rebels were stationed. It had been less than a month since the main fleet arrived at Sword Bow for rest, yet they were hurriedly setting out again. Even many officers, who typically advocated for swift and decisive action, couldn’t help but feel concerned.
On the bridge of the Lady of the Night, Alveira sat surrounded by a holographic star map. The holographic image of Darius Bayes stood behind her.
“Alveira, isn’t this operation too hasty?”
“I also think it’s a bit rash. But I can’t wait any longer.” Alveira turned her head, her flaxen hair sliding off her shoulder with the motion. “If we calculate the time, Lagrange and the others should have almost reached Charon Station. If Winnet’s forces move ahead of them, they might still be on Old Earth. How can I continue to wait? Every second wasted increases the chance that the terrible creature might be unleashed. I am protecting the Empire that my brother left me, not a universe destroyed by a monster!”
“I understand, Alveira.” Darius longed to hold her hand, but he was far away on the Sword of the Queen and couldn’t touch her. “If even you lose your composure in your urgency, then who else can defeat Winnet?”
He thought of the intelligence he had received from Zorda a few days earlier, which weighed heavily on his heart like a lead block. If his suspicions were correct… “Alveira, how many relatives do you have left in the world?”
“Why are you asking that?”
“Her Majesty the Queen, His Highness the Prince, Winnet, Musaya, and me. We’re the only family you have left.”
Alveira snorted. “Did you forget about Father’s illegitimate children?” She looked up at the admiral—who was also her cousin—but found his expression strange.
“Alveira, if one day you discovered that the person closest to you had done many terrible things behind your back and indirectly or directly caused the death of some of your friends… What would you do?”
“Are you talking about Winnet?” Alveira asked irritably. “Even if he is my uncle, I can’t forgive the crimes he’s committed. Whether it’s by royal law or by handing him over to the court, he must pay with his life.”
She paused, then added, “Are you worried about Musaya? She didn’t participate in Winnet’s rebellion. I won’t do anything to her, at most stripping her of her title and lands—what’s wrong with you, Darius? You’re acting really strange today.”
Darius forced a bitter smile. “It’s nothing. I’ve just seen a lot of life and death recently, and it suddenly hit me.” He looked at the star map that filled the entire bridge. While alive, they could traverse the galaxy and roam the universe, but one day they would all return to dust, leaving this world and going into the boundless embrace of the Creator. Even the most iron-fisted dictators and the most powerful ambitious people couldn’t escape this fate. The universe was too vast, and time too long. Compared to them, humanity was as insignificant as dust.
Countless universes.
Infinite time.
Darius painfully closed his eyes. Alveira. He thought, even if my suspicions are correct, I won’t let you know. It’s too heavy a burden for you, so let me bear it all alone.
“Alveira, if one day I die, remember this: make sure to hold onto all the weapons in your grasp. In this world, you can trust no one but yourself.”
“Darius, why are you suddenly saying things like this?”
“Maybe I won’t survive the next battle. I’m just leaving my last words.”
“If anyone’s going to die, it might be me too.” Alveira gave a comforting smile. “If I die, you’re the next heir to the throne. You must replace me…”
“You won’t die.” Darius quickly interrupted her. “You have to live and inherit the throne. Do you remember the vows we exchanged? I am the sword of the Empire, sweeping away all traitors and villains. You are the shield of the Empire, protecting the throne left to you by our ancestors and brother, along with the nation and people beneath it. You must become the queen who reigns over the galaxy. So you absolutely cannot die here.”
“Then you can’t die either, Darius Bayes.” The princess said, “The Empire’s sword cannot be broken here. You are not allowed to die without my permission!”
Darius felt a shock in his chest, as if something had melted and solidified again within his heart.
“I…”
A sharp alarm suddenly pierced the air. Leonard appeared beside Darius, ruthlessly cutting him off. “Your Highness, a transport ship has appeared near the Sword Bow star system!”
“What!” Alveira slammed her hand on the armrest. “The enemy has jumped to our rear? How many troops?”
“Currently… it’s just one transport ship.” Leonard himself found it unbelievable. He pulled up a simulation map of the Sword Bow defense forces, where a glaring red dot was rapidly approaching the planet. “They’ve deployed a flight squadron heading towards Sword Bow A!”
At the same time, light-years away from the Lady of the Night, within the Orion Arm of the Milky Way galaxy, Charon, a moon orbiting the dwarf planet Pluto, welcomed its first visitor in two thousand years.
The Northern Cross starship exited its warp jump and headed towards Charon Station, located at the Lagrange point between Charon and Pluto. The station was far from the light of any star, cold and lifeless as a tomb. In the glorious past, it had been a fortress defending the solar system and an outpost for colonial expansion. After Old Earth’s decline, it was gradually forgotten, and the First Galactic War destroyed most of the warp transit points connected to Charon Station, isolating it on the edge of the solar system and the universe. After sending off the last of Earth’s survivors, it was eventually sealed in the deepest recesses of history and memory.
Alois stared at the screen displaying Charon Station. It was spindle-shaped, with eight spokes extending from the center, perfectly maintaining its balance. In the dark expanse of space, the bronze-colored station looked like a lone boat drifting on the River Styx.
“After two thousand years, can it still function?” Alois asked.
“The station’s internal power is supplied by a fusion reactor, which can be started or stopped at any time via external command. Let’s hope Old Earth’s technology holds up.”
Joshua manipulated the computer with deep emotion, sending a command to Charon Station. After the first and second waves of Earth’s survivors left their home planet, Caster became the leader of those who remained, holding all the station’s passwords and codes. He had passed this knowledge on to his brother. Joshua even suspected that Caster had always known he would one day return to Earth, which was why he had instilled all this knowledge in him in advance.
The command was sent via radio waves, and after a few seconds, Charon Station responded that the fusion reactor had been activated. After another ten minutes, when power had reached every corner of the station, a synthesized computer voice echoed on the bridge of the Northern Cross.
“Identity verification passed, code correct. Permission to dock granted. Cerberus, Guardian of Hades, is at your service. Welcome back, Joshua Salaregia.”
“Lieutenant Zorda, where is your squadron leader? How could he tolerate you turning your cabin into a garbage dump? It looks like I’ll have to remove him from his position! By the way, are you really a soldier? Anyone who graduated from a military academy wouldn’t have such sloppy hygiene habits!”
Admiral Darius Bayes suppressed a wave of nausea as he stepped into Lieutenant Zorda’s cabin, accidentally kicking an empty can. The can rolled a few times and landed at the feet of the lieutenant, who was intently staring at a screen filled with rapidly flashing data. The lieutenant was perched on a swivel chair like a monkey, his hands typing on the keyboard at an unbelievable speed.
“Let me correct you on two things, sir. First, I don’t recall being part of a ‘squadron’. Second, I indeed didn’t attend a military academy. I was directly drafted as a technical consultant.” Lieutenant Zorda didn’t even turn his head, let alone show proper respect to his superior.
The small cabin was filled with food wrappers, cigarette butts, discarded old chips, and mechanical parts of unknown purpose. Darius had no doubt that if the Sword of the Queen were to shut down the gravity grid and enter a zero-gravity state, this place would become a dangerous battlefield filled with hazards and traps.
“Alright, technical consultant, expert, master, whatever.” Darius kicked another can.
“Surely, your visit isn’t just to practice can-shooting accuracy.” Zorda’s typing slowed down just a fraction (really just a tiny bit), indicating he was sparing some attention for Darius.
“Actually, it’s nothing much.” The admiral gave up on the idea of walking over to the lieutenant for a private conversation. It would be more difficult than crossing a battlefield filled with flying lasers. So, he closed the door, leaned against it, and spoke to Zorda from a distance. “There’s something I’ve been trying to figure out. Lieutenant, I’ve heard that you’re quite accomplished in programming and AI studies, so I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?” The lieutenant’s typing paused for a moment. “What could be so perplexing to you?”
“You’ve dealt with high-level AI, and in Milantu, you even managed to sever the connection between a high-level AI and a pirate base. So, tell me, who’s more powerful, humans or AI?”
“Well… if we’re comparing humans and AI as different species, I’d say humans are definitely more powerful because AI was created by humans, after all.” The lieutenant shrugged. “But on an individual level, AI is certainly superior, especially high-level AI. Its computational power far exceeds that of the average human brain, and across the entire universe, probably only a few mathematical geniuses could compare to it.”
Darius shifted uneasily. “Then what if… just hypothetically, what if a genius human were to connect their nervous system to the superluminal network? Wouldn’t they become something like an AI?”
“In theory, it’s possible, but in practice, it’s not feasible. In the past, there were figures like cyber hackers and neural surfers. When a human’s nervous system is connected to a computer, the brain becomes the network’s terminal, and all computations depend on this terminal. But if a human’s mind stays in the superluminal network for too long, their body would gradually deteriorate. Once the body dies, the terminal responsible for operation ceases to exist, and the mind—this human’s AI—would also perish. It’s extremely inhumane, so the Empire, the Federation, and the Free City-States have all long since legislated against connecting human nerves to computers.”
“What if this person transferred their mind elsewhere, like how AI backs up its personality and memories?”
“That’s also impossible. How could a human mind be transferred to a machine? It’s not a silicon-based lifeform! If it were a biological computer, it might be possible, but that hasn’t even been invented yet! AI can back up its personality because it was born on that kind of platform. Similarly, it’s impossible to put AI into a human body. AI can exist temporarily in a human brain, but as the information recorded in brain cells increases, the human body would inevitably develop a human personality, which would instinctively reject the AI. Over time, the body would either become schizophrenic or the brain cells would deteriorate. AI can remotely control a human through a controller, making them absolutely obey its commands, but it can never become human.”
After speaking, Lieutenant Zorda’s chair spun halfway around, facing Darius. “Sir, why the sudden interest in AI?”
Darius frowned deeply, as if he hadn’t heard the question. “But… let’s hypothesize another situation. If medical devices were used to sustain a person’s life and their nervous system was connected to the superluminal network, would that person become an immortal artificial… no, ‘human intelligence’?”
Zorda looked at Darius with slight surprise. “‘Human intelligence’… that’s a nice name. Where did you hear it?”
“I came up with it myself.” The admiral scratched his head. “Do you think it’s possible?”
“Well… if the brain could be kept alive, then yes, it’s possible. But it’s only a possibility. Do you know how much computational power a high-level AI has? Just the computer needed to run it would be the size of the Lady of the Night. The average human brain has only developed a small percentage of its capacity. If someone tried to do what a high-level AI does, the flood of information into the brain would drive an ordinary person insane. The cyber hackers and neural surfers of the past could only do slightly better than ordinary hackers. They were nowhere near the level of high-level AI.”
“What about an extreme case?” Darius asked urgently. “What if this person were a genius with an extraordinarily developed brain?”
“… According to current estimates, if a human brain develops beyond 70% of its capacity, it would have computational power equivalent to that of the Lady of the Night. If there were such a genius and, as you said, they were kept alive and connected to the superluminal network, they would certainly become a ‘human intelligence’ equal in power to, or even surpassing, high-level AI.”
Lieutenant Zorda stood on his chair, looking down at Admiral Darius Bayes. “But people would definitely prefer to keep such a genius in reality. Besides, this kind of thing is against the law throughout the galaxy and is extremely inhumane. It would require a person to give up their human body, identity, and dignity. Who would want to become something like that? Moreover, developing the human brain and making it compatible with computers also presents technical challenges. So it’s only theoretically feasible.”
Darius nodded stiffly, his face grim. “You’re right, Lieutenant.” He mechanically turned around and opened the door. Lieutenant Zorda, still standing on his chair, could clearly see beads of sweat on the back of his neck. The admiral, usually calm and composed, was oddly unsettled today.
“You haven’t answered my question, sir. Why are you suddenly interested in AI today?”
“Nothing. Just a random thought.” Darius held onto the doorframe as if he might collapse from exhaustion at any moment. “Lieutenant, what we just discussed—don’t let a third person know.”
Zorda sat back in his chair, refocusing on the rapidly moving data on the computer screen. “What did we just discuss? I don’t remember.”
Darius curled his lips into a smile. “Yeah, I don’t remember either.”
After taking two steps out, he came back and advised earnestly, “Lieutenant, even though you’re single, I still have to remind you: keep your cabin clean.”
When Fang Xiu opened his eyes again, he saw brilliant sunlight.
He was curled up inside Bai Shuangying’s true body, like a soft-bodied creature that couldn’t live without water.
From the chest up, Bai Shuangying still maintained a humanoid form. He leaned against one end of the bathtub, his long black hair fanned out and resting on the smooth white porcelain edge. He was focused on Fang Xiu, his face as expressionless as ever.
“I slept the whole night?” Fang Xiu asked in surprise.
Crap. He had said he’d help Cheng Songyun catch the ghost. She didn’t force herself to stay up just because he looked too pitiful… right?
“Cheng Songyun’s karma has been resolved. Tonight, we can use the karmic thread to navigate,” Bai Shuangying said.
He raised a finger and infused that thread of karma into Fang Xiu’s mind.
Just like with each E dispelled, Fang Xiu instantly grasped the entire story of Cheng Songyun killing her husband.
Fang Xiu was quiet for a while. “Cheng Jie figured things out. Looks like she won’t be afraid of the ‘ghost’ anymore. As they say, if you have a clear conscience, you don’t have to be afraid of ghosts knocking on your door.”
He accepted Cheng Songyun’s story calmly, showing no particular emotion.
Bai Shuangying had been ready to inwardly mock the complexity of human emotions, but this Fang Xiu left him a little unsettled.
“You don’t seem surprised,” he said.
Fang Xiu rubbed his shoulder. “You know what the scariest thing about humans is?”
Bai Shuangying: “?”
“People change.” Fang Xiu said, “Some lies weren’t lies to begin with. At the time, whether it was love or a promise, they were sincere.”
“For the one who didn’t change, that’s even more terrifying than being deceived. If it were just deception, they could hate the liar and at most blame themselves for being foolish.”
“But if it’s not… they begin to doubt everything; their perception of the world, whether they did something wrong. Then comes a long, drawn-out pain.”
Fang Xiu looked at the sunlit forest. “Sometimes, even truth can turn into a lie. That’s how strange humans are.”
Bai Shuangying considered this. “You seem very used to such things.”
“That’s elementary-level deception class.” Fang Xiu winked at him.
Bai Shuangying was shocked. “Humans have deception classes now?”
“Nope. Gotcha.”
“……”
Fang Xiu laughed unreservedly at Bai Shuangying’s straight face. Then, out of habit, he tried to get up, only to remember he no longer had his left leg. He slipped and fell back into the tub.
The moment he left Bai Shuangying’s body, pain flared again at his wound. His lips quickly lost all color, and fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
Bai Shuangying said, “If you destroy the Huanxi E in time tonight, you won’t face the taboo a third time…”
“Bai Shuangying.” Fang Xiu interrupted his ghost.
He awkwardly climbed out of the bathtub and struggled to sit at the bedside.
“What?”
Fang Xiu’s tone was serious. “I’m grateful you helped Cheng Jie condense the karmic thread. But next time, I want you to inform me beforehand. I really, really hate losing control of a situation.”
Bai Shuangying was unconcerned. “Or else?”
“Hmm, I guess you don’t care whether I’m sincere. So let me put it practically.”
Fang Xiu turned his head. Through sweat-damp bangs, his black eyes shone.
“After the first ritual, you’ve become more and more proactive. There’s no fresh soul to eat in this taboo, but you’re even more eager than during the second ritual.”
“That tells me you want something from me. Not just Underworld rewards or tasty souls. Something else… something more important.”
Those black eyes glinted, not like gemstones, but like the edge of a blade.
“Bai Shuangying, I hope we can continue being ‘friends’ and communicate properly about everything.”
“Otherwise, whatever you want from me, I guarantee you won’t get it.”
So troublesome, Bai Shuangying thought. He really wasn’t used to coordinating with others when he wanted to do something.
But fine. There was no need to ruin his greater plan over something this minor. Their goals were aligned for now. If it’s a hassle, so be it.
Still, Fang Xiu’s eyes just now looked familiar. Bai Shuangying had the feeling he’d seen them somewhere before. That gaze was defiant, but he didn’t hate it.
“I’ll tell you next time,” Bai Shuangying said.
Fang Xiu grinned brightly. “Mm!”
His eyes were filled with happiness. He always looked at Bai Shuangying like that.
Bai Shuangying couldn’t understand it.
These past days, Bai Shuangying had thought that some attentive care would fully bind Fang Xiu to him.
And it had worked. Fang Xiu was noticeably closer to him. Bai Shuangying could tell.
But through the negotiation just now, he also realized: Fang Xiu didn’t for a second believe that an evil spirit would feel anything for him, not even the most basic camaraderie.
Fang Xiu knew he had ulterior motives. The human’s clarity left Bai Shuangying speechless.
…Since you understand everything, why do you still look at me like that?
…Is that emotion meant to deceive me?
…What are you really thinking?
While Bai Shuangying was still trying to work it out, Fang Xiu had already secured the corpse leg prosthetic and was getting ready to receive guests.
……
Cheng Songyun’s eyes were swollen like peaches. She had clearly cried all night. But something in her had changed, like a leaf that had drifted in the air for too long and finally landed.
Guan He had also managed to sleep through the night. His dark circles had lightened and he looked refreshed.
When the two saw Fang Xiu, they were just about to speak when they were startled by the sight of the corpse leg.
It was completely bloodless, with rough, cracked skin in a sickly wax-yellow hue. It was also covered in curly leg hair, completely out of place on Fang Xiu.
“I have no choice. There’s no proper prosthetic,” Fang Xiu said from the bed, trying to suppress his pained breathing.
Next came the mushroom trio.
They were much more candid. The moment Xiao Tian saw the corpse leg, she screamed and nearly fell over. Song Zheng and Xiao Li recoiled at once, squeezing their double chins.
“Xiao Li, Xiao Li come on!” Xiao Tian shouted as she shoved him forward.
Xiao Li reluctantly stepped up, pulling a peach pit from his pocket and tossing it to the floor.
In the next instant, the pit expanded wildly, turning into a carved miniature boat.
What had seemed like a simple seed revealed itself to be an intricately crafted peachwood boat, complete with carved rowers and passengers. The closest boatman looked around in confusion.
“Why is there no water here again? Ahhh, what are you doing?!”
Xiao Li stepped forward and grabbed the boatman’s paddle.
The boatman couldn’t match Xiao Li’s strengthened strength and stomped in fury. “Pirate! Pirate!”
Before he could shout more, Xiao Li shrank the boat and stuffed it back into his pocket.
Even inside the pocket, the pit continued to thump and emit tiny angry curses.
Xiao Li laughed awkwardly. “It’s made of peachwood. We usually bring it out to repel evil spirits. The people inside are just a bit hot-tempered, that’s all.”
The paddle, still full-sized, was handed to Fang Xiu. “Can you use this?”
“Won’t the boat be missing a paddle?” Fang Xiu asked curiously.
“The boatman will make another one. I don’t know where he gets them from. I even snatched his hat once,” said Veteran Pirate Xiao Li.
Seeing Fang Xiu put away the hairy corpse leg, Xiao Tian finally exhaled.
She patted her chest and looked around. “Hey, where’s that handsome guy in white?”
Fang Xiu: “?”
Song Zheng looked embarrassed. “Xiao Tian!”
Xiao Tian mumbled, “I just saw that super-gross dead hairy leg, and I wanted to cleanse my eyes. That face not being out in the open feels like a waste…”
Fang Xiu nodded approvingly. “You’ve got taste.”
Xiao Tian: “Right?”
Song Zheng closed his eyes. “…You could look at me or Xiao Li too.”
Xiao Tian glanced at them both and politely hummed twice. “Let’s get to business.”
She grabbed a can from Fang Xiu’s prepared breakfast and turned serious.
“I watched A’Qing and Jia Xu yesterday. Jia Xu used the ‘Luck Borrowing Die’ again.”
Guan He was shocked. “Is he crazy?”
Xiao Tian clicked her tongue. “No, Uncle Hou told him to ‘make an impression’. He gathered a bunch of down-and-out folks to watch Jia Xu demonstrate the magic prop.”
“Uncle Hou even publicly said he’d never force Jia Xu to use the die. Anyone who wants to borrow its power has to go through Jia Xu personally.”
“Then what’s the point of showing off?” Guan He didn’t get it.
Cheng Songyun cleared her throat, her voice still hoarse. “Now everyone knows there’s a ‘guaranteed win’ method here. More people will ask Uncle Hou for chips. If they win, great; if they lose, there’s Jia Xu’s die as backup.”
Xiao Tian rolled her eyes. “That ‘backup’ is shaky. After using the die, Jia Xu had terrible luck. He lost several times in a row.”
Fang Xiu paused mid-paddle practice.
Xiao Tian continued, “Though he only gambled three or four times—some poker game I don’t understand. I couldn’t tell if it was bad luck or not. If we’re talking unlucky, A’Qing used to be way worse…”
She sighed as if mourning A’Qing’s misfortunes.
“…Uncle Hou’s starting to target us. His people have been following me and Xiao Tian, asking where Song Ge went. I stuck to our story, that you guys were stubborn and hired Song Ge to explore that ‘Emergency Exit’,” Xiao Li said, glancing nervously at Fang Xiu.
Fang Xiu showed no emotion. “And?”
“I heard from Song Ge that the Emergency Exit is full of illusions. It’s really tricky. Some have tried before, and most were scared out. A few even died in there.”
Xiao Li scratched his head. “If you still plan to go today, Song Ge might…”
“Don’t worry. We’re not taking Song Zheng today.” Fang Xiu glanced at Cheng Songyun.
Guan He perked up. “You found a way, Fang Ge? Then tonight…”
Fang Xiu: “You’re not coming either.”
Guan He: “…”
Guan He: “…Huh?”
“Uncle Hou isn’t easy to deal with. Even though it’s only the second night, I need more smokescreens.” Fang Xiu calmly explained, “Tonight, Song Zheng goes to the casino as usual. Act natural. If anyone asks, tell them the Emergency Exit is dangerous. We got separated early on and you think the whole plan is unreliable.”
Song Zheng was honest. “That’s actually accurate.”
“Xiao Guan, you go to the casino too and cash in your blood debt.”
“Jia Xu and the others will come running to check on you. Pretend to waver, like you’ve lost hope following me. But no matter what Jia Xu says, don’t gamble.”
Guan He understood.
A minor abandoning the group to cash out would make anyone think Fang Xiu was in a terrible state.
“Uh, I don’t mind cashing it in. But five hours of just sitting there is kinda weird…”
Fang Xiu turned to Song Zheng. “Here’s the important part. I’m counting on you. Xiao Guan is in your hands.”
“Guan He, once you cash in your 1,000 chips, immediately lend them to Xiao Tian. A’Qing knew she has enhanced luck. Uncle Hou’s side won’t suspect anything for now.”
Xiao Tian pointed at herself, confused. “Me? Lend them to me for what?”
“…To challenge someone and apply a little luck leverage.”
Through the pain, Fang Xiu grinned.
“Let’s turn the casino upside down.”
……
By noon, the room had cleared out.
Fang Xiu polished the peachwood paddle Xiao Li gave him and adjusted his temporary prosthetic.
Really, he still needed a hook hand and a skull eyepatch, he thought, trying to joke to himself.
Bai Shuangying leaned on the edge of the tub watching him with an unreadable expression unreadable, but the ghost and the mountain view outside the window complemented each other perfectly. It was picturesque.
Knock knock.
Just as Fang Xiu was savoring the peace, someone knocked on the door.
He froze, then slowly stood. “Who is it?”
“It’s Mei Lan.” A soft voice replied.
Fang Xiu opened the door. As expected, Mei Lan stood outside, holding a bamboo bowl in both hands, looking nervous.
Her gaze lingered long on his injuries, and there was a trace of pity on her face.
“The water in this Nectar Bowl can purify curses,” she said softly. “May I come in and pour some for you? I don’t know if it’ll help…”
Fang Xiu silently stepped aside. Mei Lan entered with her head down. She looked out at the mountain scenery for a long time before saying again, “It’s really beautiful.”
She didn’t have Jia Xu’s arrogance. She looked exhausted and irritated, with dark circles under her eyes.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Fang Xiu said lightly. “Or maybe… you’re here to spy for Jia Xu?”
Mei Lan: “I just wanted to trade for another can of yellow peaches.”
A few seconds later, she seemed to gather her courage.
“Actually, I don’t want to follow Jia Xu anymore.”
Fang Xiu raised an eyebrow.
Mei Lan lowered her head.
“‘Water Stealth’ isn’t useful here, and I’m not that smart. If I stay with you, I’ll just drag you down. I know this sounds like an excuse, but it’s really how I feel.”
As she spoke, she laid out 35 chips in front of Fang Xiu.
“These past two days, I only played even-odd bets, one at a time. Please believe me. I really don’t want to stay here.”
“You don’t trust me, I understand. I’m not asking to know your plans. I just want to say, if there’s anything I can do…”
Fang Xiu: “Then give me all your chips. If things go badly tonight, I’ll return them before midnight.”
Third Taboo: You must always hold a chip. Lose it, and die.
Mei Lan turned pale. “……”
Handing over all her chips was as good as handing over her life. If Fang Xiu didn’t return them, she’d have to borrow from Jia Xu or Uncle Hou, and they’d surely demand something in return.
Fang Xiu quietly watched her.
Finally, Mei Lan clenched her teeth and handed over all her chips.
“I believe you,” she said nervously.
“I don’t believe you, and I don’t need your trust either.” Fang Xiu took the chips without hesitation. “…But I will win.”
Mei Lan pressed her lips together and said nothing more.
She filled a glass vase with Nectar Water, then left with a can of yellow peaches.
Bai Shuangying, who had been watching. “My body is more effective than Nectar Water.”
Fang Xiu was drinking. Hearing this, he nearly choked through his nose.
“Please say ‘true body’. Your true body, thank you.”
“She’s trying to win your favor. Be careful.” Bai Shuangying ignored the correction and continued.
Clack. Fang Xiu set down his empty can.
“Actually, I’m more concerned about something else. How did Mei Lan know the Bone-Cleaving Blade was cursed?”
Fang Xiu touched the burning edge of his wound and looked toward the closed door.
“Maybe… we really do have a Taoist priest among us.”
Several hours later, night fell for the third time.
The lobby was bustling as usual.
Near the “Emergency Exit”, only Fang Xiu, leaning on his peachwood prosthetic, and the petite Cheng Songyun stood quietly in the shadows, which was completely out of place in the cheerful scene.
As expected, Jia Xu pushed through the respectful crowd and made his way to them.
“Come on, don’t be stubborn. Just one round tonight. I’ll take you. At least get your leg back. You look ridiculous like this!”
The crowd behind Jia Xu had all witnessed the power of the Luck Borrowing Die, and murmurs of envy rippled through them.
Fang Xiu stared at him for a while. “Is it safe following you? I heard your luck was a little off last night.”
Jia Xu’s expression shifted, then turned boisterous. “It was nothing. It’s just a normal unlucky streak.”
“Somebody even researched this. This casino is totally fair! I just hit a statistical outlier…”
“A casino formed from the obsessions of gamblers is, of course, fair.”
Fang Xiu looked at the gaudy sign for Huanxi World.
“But you should know…what’s most terrifying to gamblers is a completely fair casino.”
Knowing there’s no cheating, gamblers only spiral further, because they’re convinced they can still win.
Jia Xu wasn’t listening. His attention was elsewhere.
“You said obsession? I called that on day one. Those three taboos are basically pushing people to win.”
“The obsession that created the Huanxi E is obviously ‘I want to win.’ It’s not hard to guess.”
He spoke with pride, full of “I figured it out first” smugness. He reached out to Fang Xiu like he was pulling him from the mud.
Fang Xiu didn’t move or respond. He leaned against the wall, his whole body trembling faintly from pain.
“Come on, Fang Xiu. I know it’s hard to admit you picked the wrong path.”
“It sucks to admit failure. But you won’t survive another taboo. Come with me.”
Fang Xiu shook his head and didn’t take the hand.
“Goodbye, Jia Xu,” he said softly.
The author has something to say:
Xiao Fang is at it again. Cue the suona funeral band.jpg
————————————
A little off-topic ramble~
In the last chapter, someone questioned, “How could someone so kind turn into scum just because of gambling?” It felt too extreme, hard to believe.
I used to think that too.
Our country’s anti-drug awareness is very strong. No one finds it strange when “a social elite becomes trash after taking drugs.”, so they subconsciously think the harm of gambling isn’t that great.
But when it comes to gambling, people subconsciously underestimate the harm.
Maybe it’s because online gambling ads and esports betting are everywhere, and casual card games are common.
Some stories even glamorize gamblers, so people don’t grasp how damaging gambling really is.
So many think:
“Rich and smart people wouldn’t get addicted.”
“Gambling isn’t that easy to access.”
“It won’t change a person’s nature.”
“Once the debts are paid, life can start over.”
It’s precisely this belief that leads to tragedy when encountering a real gambler.
The comments have mentioned it many times, so let me formally recommend:
Please check out [Jie She]—a site with real-life gambling addiction stories.
My fictional tales are nothing. Real-life gambling addicts are even scarier, even more absurd.
There’s a reason sex, drugs, and gambling are always listed together. _(:3 」∠)
And above all, may you never meet a gambler, and may you never gamble yourself!
When Bai Shuangying interacted with humans, many of them came to him seeking healing from pain or illness.
He knew that sometimes, when faced with pain, even death could be considered a release.
He also knew that Fang Xiu was the most pain-tolerant human he had ever seen. But the pain before had at least stayed within natural limits. This time, the E was different. It was pushing human sensory limits to the extreme.
If Bai Shuangying weren’t by his side, Fang Xiu wouldn’t have been able to sleep these past two days.
If this pain were placed on someone else, they’d probably collapse in tears and gamble away 1,000 chips in a frenzy just to make it stop. A weaker person wouldn’t even be able to move.
To be honest, Bai Shuangying was surprised that Fang Xiu could still think clearly.
Although Fang Xiu still seemed composed, Bai Shuangying didn’t want to gamble further.
If Fang Xiu broke another taboo or two, becoming a cripple screaming in agony, it would be the end of everything.
…And this was far from the end.
In front of him, Cheng Songyun bit her lip.
“He should’ve sacrificed me instead,” Cheng Songyun said quietly.
Bai Shuangying looked at her in silence.
“I refused to gamble, so Fang Xiu had no obligation to find human flesh for me. There’s fewer evil spirits here. He could’ve just told me to kill Shang Debao, then taken Guan He to explore.”
Cheng Songyun’s voice carried pain. “All I’ve been thinking about is the past. I’ve been less useful than even Xiao Guan…”
Bai Shuangying said, “In my eyes, you and Guan He are equally useless.”
Cheng Songyun: “…”
“I only know one thing: Fang Xiu isn’t some bleeding-heart. Instead of wallowing in these thoughts, you’d be better off making yourself useful.”
Bai Shuangying was irritated by human whining. Fang Xiu never once complained to him.
Cheng Songyun gave a bitter smile. “Fair enough.”
Bai Shuangying instructed her to sleep on the sofa and not to open her eyes no matter what she saw or heard, until everything was over.
“What do you mean, ‘until everything is over’?” Cheng Songyun asked.
“You’ll know when the time comes.”
Bai Shuangying’s voice was cold as always.
Cheng Songyun sighed and closed her eyes.
At the same time, Bai Shuangying lowered his gaze. The thread of karma trembled violently in his palm, surrounded by countless distortions. It seemed to want to escape his grip, but he held it firmly.
The flow of countless karmic lines rushed before his eyes…into Cheng Songyun’s dream.
……
Cheng Songyun’s life was both ordinary and extraordinary.
She was born in a backwater village and grew up with her childhood sweetheart, Sun Jinfeng. Their families were close and knew each other inside out.
The two of them were inseparable from a young age. They were classmates in elementary and middle school and attended the same high school. But while Sun Jinfeng got into a top university, Cheng Songyun didn’t perform well on the entrance exam and ended up at an average college.
Even so, in the summer of senior year, Sun Jinfeng formally confessed his feelings to her.
Back then, the young man seemed so sincere and full of passion.
Cheng Songyun’s friends didn’t think the relationship would last. They said Sun Jinfeng had a bright future and would soon be surrounded by other outstanding women, and he’d eventually move on.
“Yun Yun, first loves rarely last. Don’t get too attached.” They worried she’d be too heartbroken if it ended and often gave her gentle warnings.
Cheng Songyun never listened.
“I believe in him,” she declared.
…And indeed, Sun Jinfeng didn’t stray.
Throughout college, they stayed in constant contact.
They spent holidays together, exchanged small, cute gifts, and developed a new tradition.
Every New Year, Cheng Songyun would buy two diaries. She wrote in one and gave the other to Sun Jinfeng. They’d fill them up through the year and then swap diaries and start again.
Sun Jinfeng had beautiful handwriting and was meticulous. He saved all his ticket stubs from visiting her, took daily pictures of his window view, printed them out, and stuck them in the journal.
Outside his dorm window was a lush tree and a broad sky. As the seasons passed, the sky changed delicately and beautifully.
He said this way, they could share the same space.
Whenever it was anything but a sunny day, he’d cheerfully write, “It’s cloudy today.”
Even when they fought, they never skipped a diary entry.
After swapping them at New Year, they’d both flip to the same date to see what complaints the other had written about them.
And so, Cheng Songyun’s desk gradually filled with diaries. She sealed them in plastic bags, added moisture-absorbing packets, and imagined the two of them reading them together when they were old while laughing at each other loudly.
They’d be so happy then.
……
By the time they’d exchanged four diaries, they graduated from college.
Sun Jinfeng got a job at a major company in Gui Province while Cheng Songyun took a job in HR at a small firm. They kept up their diary exchange. No matter how busy he was with overtime, he never missed a day.
He used the diary to vent about his boss or share little work stories, like someone’s office turtle dying, or a succulent on the windowsill blooming.
I was late today. My stomach’s acting up today. I missed you a lot today.
It’s cloudy today.
Instead of ticket stubs, he began inserting meal receipts or silly photos from late-night work.
He still took daily sky photos, but the view now was from an office window rather than a dormitory.
The city skyline outside his office was breathtaking.
Eventually, Sun Jinfeng filled up two more diaries and found stability at his company.
Under the New Year fireworks, Cheng Songyun opened the latest diary from him. On the last page, hidden behind a photo of brilliant clouds, was a diamond ring.
She turned around in surprise and saw Sun Jinfeng was holding a giant bouquet.
He proposed.
Cheng Songyun accepted with joy, and he hugged her tightly.
Maybe because they’d known each other so long, married life was even calmer than she imagined, but still happy.
Sun Jinfeng didn’t smoke or drink. He was ambitious, respectful toward female colleagues, and never hung around massage parlors like some of his coworkers. He always let her know when he had to work late or go on business trips.
They never forgot anniversaries and always surprised each other. They weren’t rich, but life was comfortable and smooth.
Just like a “normal family”.
Even after moving in together, they continued writing diaries.
Any little friction they didn’t know how to talk about, or apologies they couldn’t say aloud, they wrote in the diaries.
Whenever the sky wasn’t clear, Sun Jinfeng still wrote with excitement: “It’s cloudy today.”
Cheng Songyun bought a storage cabinet and neatly stored all their diaries with their important documents.
It felt magical, as if her entire life had been packed neatly into that small cabinet.
……
By their fourth wedding anniversary, the cabinet held twenty diaries; ten from each of them. Their daughter had just turned one. Then came a massive upheaval.
The economy was in a slump with layoffs were everywhere. Sun Jinfeng’s entire department was axed. Cheng Songyun also lost her job.
With a baby to raise and a mortgage to pay, their severance packages wouldn’t last long.
After much thought, Cheng Songyun said bravely, “Let’s sell the house.”
Sun Jinfeng’s eyes turned red.
“This house is too big. It feels empty. The market’s still good. We can sell it for a lot,” she said calmly.
“We’ll buy a smaller secondhand place. Even if it’s old, it’s fine, as long as it’s near a good school.”
Looking at the home they’d so carefully decorated, Sun Jinfeng’s voice was choked. “It’s my fault… You and our daughter shouldn’t have to suffer…”
Cheng Songyun shook her head with a smile. “This isn’t suffering. As long as we’re together, it’s enough.”
She pulled him to the computer, pointing out a modest home. “The price is fair, and it’s well laid-out. It’ll hold its value…”
Sun Jinfeng hugged his wife and looked at the sample picture on his phone.
The house wasn’t big, with only two bedrooms and a living room. The decoration looked old and there wasn’t an elevator. However, there was a big window in the living room that captured the scenery outside that looked as if it came from a painting.
The price really was appropriate. If they traded in their current house, they’d have an extra million in cash.
“This time, we don’t need to settle for a fully furnished house. We’ll design and renovate it ourselves,” Cheng Songyun said with a smile.
And she followed through. They decorated their small home into something cozy and warm. Just looking at it filled them with hope.
On the day they officially moved in, Sun Jinfeng carried their daughter in his arms and took one step after another toward their new home. He kissed his daughter on the cheek with a faint smile on his face.
“Wife, thank you.” As he stepped through the doorway, Sun Jinfeng turned around and said this to Cheng Songyun with sincerity.
Afterward, Sun Jinfeng tapped into his old connections and began the difficult journey of starting his own business. He was so busy his feet barely touched the ground.
With no one else to care for their daughter, Cheng Songyun took on all household responsibilities, raised the child, and worked a temp job. Every day she was busy from the moment she opened her eyes until she closed them.
Things didn’t go well for Sun Jinfeng. His company devoured money like a bottomless pit. His diary entries were filled with self-doubt, pain, and anxiety.
But he still remembered to take a photo of the sky through the office window every day.
Cheng Songyun’s relatives couldn’t stand it anymore and quietly urged her to divorce. Everyone said that nine out of ten startups fail, and it was clear Sun Jinfeng was heading toward ruin. Cheng Songyun was working herself to the bone, practically a widow, and might end up saddled with debt.
Cheng Songyun firmly refused.
“I believe in him,” she said.
…In the fourth year of his startup, Sun Jinfeng succeeded.
The day he turned a profit, he rubbed her rough hands and cried so hard he almost passed out.
Sun Jinfeng became a multimillionaire overnight.
He was known for doting on his wife and daughter and never strayed. He bought a beautiful large apartment, and the family moved into a high-end community. But they still kept their old, worn-down little home.
The storage cabinet now held thirty diaries. It was getting crowded. Cheng Songyun cleared out a separate small room to store them as a study.
That year, she was 33 years old.
The following years were smooth and happy.
When she turned 40, Sun Jinfeng declared he was financially free and retired. The couple traveled occasionally and spent the rest of their time caring for their daughter.
Their diaries kept increasing, now covered with photos of their travels.
Sun Jinfeng even bought an expensive camera and insisted on photographing the weather, which their daughter teased as being overly sentimental.
It’s cloudy today.
He wrote that line over and over, from their youth at 18 or 19, all the way into their 40s, when his hair had begun to turn gray.
……
When did things start to go wrong? Cheng Songyun still didn’t know.
She only remembered that in the New Year of her 43rd year, they didn’t exchange diaries.
Then she discovered their savings account was empty. Sun Jinfeng laughed it off, saying he had lent the money to a friend and told her not to worry.
Then her jewelry disappeared. Cheng Songyun wanted to call the police, but Sun Jinfeng said it was just a stroke of bad luck and warned her that involving outsiders might bring retaliation. So the matter was dropped.
Eventually, debt collectors came knocking.
She suddenly realized the house was no longer theirs, the home wasn’t their home anymore.
Sun Jinfeng wept bitterly, slapping himself and frantically apologizing.
He said he had gambled and fallen into someone’s trap.
It started with a refusal to accept failure. He just wanted to win back a little money. But he got hooked. The savings were gone. The house was gone.
But he swore to heaven he didn’t owe anyone money.
“Yun Yun, let’s start over, okay?”
Sun Jinfeng clung to her sleeve. “I promise. I won’t gamble anymore. I really won’t. If I do, may I die a horrible death.”
Cheng Songyun was dizzy for half a day. She couldn’t understand. How could such a large sum of money just disappear, without a trace?
Maybe it was because they’d had it too good for too long, she thought. They’d been through hardship before. They’d supported each other for half their lives. How could she just leave him now?
If Sun Jinfeng could change, everything would be okay again.
So they moved back into that shabby old house.
Sun Jinfeng started job hunting. Cheng Songyun returned to working temp jobs.
But their daughter, home for summer vacation, reacted strongly. She firmly advised her mother to divorce.
“He already gambled away the house. He’ll never change! Mom, you have to divorce him. It’s not too late!” her daughter pleaded.
Cheng Songyun was silent for a long time.
“I believe in him,” she sighed. “Sweetheart, you’re still young. Not everything is so black and white.”
“When he had money, our family was just fine. If I leave him now that he’s down, that’s not how a person should be.”
Her daughter stomped her foot in frustration.
“He didn’t care about you at all when he lost everything!”
Cheng Songyun: “Your dad isn’t bad at heart. He’ll change. I’ll make sure he does.”
She kept writing in her diary, recording every day’s pain and hope. Maybe this diary would have a chance to be given to him. No, it definitely would.
Today, I got a message from a debt collector. He took out a loan under my name.
Today, I found out he’s still gambling. He secretly hid a phone.
Today, he hit me for the first time.
The moment he hit her, Cheng Songyun was completely stunned. When Sun Jinfeng realized what he had done, he dropped to his knees and started sobbing again.
“It’s my fault. I actually owed 800,000 before…” Sun Jinfeng choked through red, teary eyes. “I just didn’t want you two to suffer. At my age, I can’t do much anymore. How can I repay 800,000…”
“Yun Yun, I just wanted to keep this house. I didn’t want to sell it. It’s our home…”
She still believed him.
The second time he hit her was because she noticed the family’s camera was missing and questioned him. He became furious and slapped her on the spot.
Afterwards, he once again apologized with tears in his eyes.
“I couldn’t control myself. I won 200,000 in one go… I should’ve stopped while I was ahead…”
“I know you’re disappointed. Really, just this once. I’ll never gamble again!”
She still believed him.
Then came the third time. The fourth…
Cheng Songyun kept writing in her diary. She realized she was going numb. The first time she saw tears in his eyes, her heart had twisted with pain. Now, when she saw his face full of tears, she felt nothing.
She pulled out their college diaries and gently traced the words “It’s cloudy today” with her fingers.
The most recent time he hit her, he almost broke her leg. She looked at the bloated, roaring man before her and suddenly couldn’t recall what he used to look like.
Had she said something wrong? Or failed to find the right way?
…She still wanted to believe him, but she was reaching her limit.
When Sun Jinfeng learned she wanted a divorce, he flew into a rage.
“You ever earned a cent in your life? Haven’t you lived off me this whole time? Now that I’m broke you want to run? Why didn’t I realize before what a whore you are?”
After cursing, he started begging again.
“I’m sorry, Yun Yun… I’m scum, worse than a dog… You’re all I’ve got. Even if I have to deliver food, I’ll pay back the debt. Just trust me this one time, please?”
Then he pulled a knife from the kitchen and, in front of her, cut off his left pinky finger.
Cheng Songyun was shocked by the bloody scene. She rushed him to the hospital and didn’t dare mention divorce again.
Just a bit longer, she thought. This time, he’ll really change.
……
Their daughter graduated from college, found a job, and got married.
She refused to have anything to do with her gambling father and would only meet Cheng Songyun outside the home.
Every time she saw her mother’s bruises, she would try to convince her to leave. And then break down crying.
Outside, the daughter cried. Inside, the husband cried.
Cheng Songyun didn’t know where her life had gone wrong.
She was shocked to find she had adapted to this horrific life.
Now she worked temp jobs, did housework, helped pay off debts, and was occasionally beaten, over and over, day by day.
Sun Jinfeng was still gambling. He wouldn’t even consider working a job that paid a few thousand a month. Whenever she brought up money, he hit her.
He had taken to drinking and would hit her when drunk, too. He knew where to hit without leaving visible bruises. He knew how to avoid punishment. His apologies became more and more perfunctory.
Whenever she brought up divorce, he threatened suicide and threw tantrums.
She had heard that filing for divorce was troublesome and it could take a year or two to resolve.
Sometimes she thought about taking the risk. Other times, she thought, I’m already 49… How many years do I even have left?
Maybe this is just how my life ends, Cheng Songyun thought.
The diary cabinet gathered dust. She hadn’t opened it in a long time.
Things changed at New Year. Her daughter came to her, terrified. Sun Jinfeng had gone to her home asking for money.
To avoid trouble, her daughter had always sent her support payments directly to Cheng Songyun.
But Sun Jinfeng insisted she wasn’t supporting them and even threatened to cause a scene at her workplace.
Her daughter and son-in-law were forced to give him 10,000 yuan just to get rid of him. But in less than three days, he showed up again.
Her daughter, fed up, decided to move. But then…
“Mom, he found Cong Cong’s kindergarten.” Across the table, her daughter was nearly falling apart. “He claimed to be the grandfather and took the child… He had videos with Cong Cong, our contact info… I missed a call, and he took the kid…”
“He’s asking for money again. What do I do, Mom…”
Cong Cong was Cheng Songyun’s grandson, who just turned three this year.
This time, Cheng Songyun stayed quiet for a long while.
She and Sun Jinfeng had been together since they could remember. She knew all his habits.
Like how he always held onto the handrail when going upstairs.
Like how, if alcohol wasn’t put away, he’d drink every drop.
Like how, when he hit her, he always took a slanted step forward.
Five peaceful days passed.
One night, a drunk Sun Jinfeng climbed the stairs with the help of the railing, and saw his wife waiting at the top.
“What now?” he asked impatiently.
Cheng Songyun: “If you need money, just tell me. Don’t ask our daughter.”
“Why the hell not? She’s a damn ingrate!” Sun Jinfeng roared. “I spent hundreds of thousands on her, and now she complains when I ask for a few thousand?”
Cheng Songyun: “But you didn’t raise Cong Cong.”
“Grandpa, hic, Grandpa playing with his grandson, is that illegal? Cong Cong likes me. I’ll go see him again tomorrow…”
Cheng Songyun closed her eyes.
“I’ll say this one last time: If you need money, tell me. Don’t drag the children into this.”
“…Do you remember what you said the first time you climbed these stairs?”
Sun Jinfeng scoffed. “Who remembers that crap?”
He grabbed the railing, stepped diagonally forward to reach for her, but his foot slipped on something slick, like entrails.
His drunk mind didn’t have time to react. He lost his balance and fell.
His hand was less than a fist’s distance from her. In that moment, he looked at her with wide, almost confused eyes.
Cheng Songyun had only meant to teach him a lesson, maybe break his leg. Then she could fully control him. He wouldn’t be able to hit her, harass their daughter’s family, or sneak off to gamble.
Crude as it was, it seemed worth it. She should have done it sooner.
Maybe… maybe she could peel back the layers and find the man she once loved.
That husband had existed for over forty years. The monster before her had only existed for less than ten. He had to still be there, sleeping somewhere, not gone forever.
And so she watched him fall. He hit the steps with a dull thud. He lay limp at the foot of the stairs. Under the flickering motion sensor light, blood spread steadily.
His eyes were still wide, staring blankly at her.
Cheng Songyun gripped the railing and looked down at the familiar yet foreign corpse.
She remembered the first time they’d walked up these stairs. Sun Jinfeng had held their daughter tightly and smiled with pride.
“Our little girl’s been through enough. I’ll buy her a big house someday. I swear I’ll never let her suffer again.”
He had kissed her cheek gently, afraid his stubble would hurt her.
Just now, he said: Who remembers that crap?
She stared into those bewildered, shocked eyes.
She remembered the first day they sent their daughter to preschool. Sun Jinfeng had been even more reluctant than she was.
“Kids grow up so fast,” he had said in a daze. “It’s too fast… What if she’s scared inside? Can’t we wait a little longer before sending her?”
A few days ago, he had taken their grandson from preschool, just to squeeze out some money. And said he would do it again.
At last, Cheng Songyun looked at the blood. Under the light, it was blindingly red. Just like the bouquet Sun Jinfeng had used to propose.
“I’ll treat you well for the rest of my life!”
She had never seen him so serious.
Now he was dead.
That moment she realized this, her first thought wasn’t fear, but surprise.
She would never get her husband back. That “It’s cloudy today” written in the year she turned 42. That was his final note to her.
…But how could that be the end?
She couldn’t stop thinking of the diaries. Of sky after sky.
Cheng Songyun slowly squatted down expressionlessly, her body like a puppet.
…Had she done something wrong? Not done enough? Failed to save him?
…Could there have been a different ending?
In a daze, a red thread slithered from the corpse, like a snake, and came to her. She instinctively grabbed it.
A flood of obsessions poured into her mind. Somehow, she knew they belonged to the dead man at the foot of the stairs.
[I must make a comeback. Or what was the point of my life?]
[I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win I want to win…]
She searched for more, but found nothing.
No regret. No anger. No fear.
No home. No her. No daughter.
Not even the weather today.
It turned out, a person could be alive, yet already dead.
It turned out, their ending had been decided long ago.
Cheng Songyun clutched the red thread. Silent tears streamed down her face. Then she began to sob uncontrollably.
In endless pain, everything turned to pure white.
Cheng Songyun opened her eyes, her face soaked in tears.
“Very good. You’ve understood.”
In Bai Shuangying’s palm, the red thread was now solid, almost tangible.
Cheng Songyun sniffled and moved her lips. “You were watching the whole time? You…”
“No need to worry. I won’t judge.” Bai Shuangying’s face was still expressionless. “…It’s just a common tale from the human world.”
Bai Shuangying fixed his gaze on Cheng Songyun. “If you fully accept the karmic bond, I’ll be able to clearly reveal the threads of karma.”
Cheng Songyun unconsciously clasped her fingers together. “What does it mean to accept karma?”
Fang Xiu had shared some of his theories with them, including the idea that “the E is connected to karmic threads”. Unfortunately, none of them really understood metaphysics, and even Fang Xiu couldn’t explain much in detail.
Professional Bai Shuangying: “You still have emotional knots. You haven’t accepted this karmic bond, so the thread is unstable. Once you comprehend it, once you figure it out, you’ll naturally know how to stabilize it.”
Fang Xiu: “Uh… can you put it in plainer terms?”
Every time metaphysics came up, Bai Shuangying started talking like he was speaking in tongues.
“It’s a kind of instinct. Hard to describe.” Bai Shuangying glanced at him again.
Fang Xiu: “…”
He couldn’t help but think of a class genius he once knew.
Fang Xiu was smart, always in the top three in his grade. But his good grades came from consistent studying, not innate talent.
He’d seen real prodigies. There was a guy in his class who was a total math whiz but average in all the humanities. Fang Xiu would sometimes ask him for help with math problems, and the way that guy talked was exactly like Bai Shuangying.
…It’s so troublesome to explain in words. Isn’t it something you just see and get?
Natural instinct geniuses are just too hard to deal with, Fang Xiu sighed.
Guan He: “Sounds like she needs to resolve her emotional knots first? Let’s help Auntie Cheng with that before anything else.”
Fang Xiu shook his head lightly. “Guan He, think about yourself. Do you think emotional knots are that easy to untie?”
Guan He instantly went silent.
Humans are emotional creatures, after all. How could they easily let go of the shadow of death and the tangle of love and hate with just a few words?
Cheng Songyun lowered her eyes, nervously twisting her fingers. “Sorry, I’ll try to think of something…”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. There’s definitely more than one solution. Don’t stress about it, Cheng Jie. Emotional clarity takes time. Rushing it only traps you deeper in the maze.” Fang Xiu’s tone was relaxed. “Let’s go upstairs first.”
Cheng Songyun, Guan He: “???”
Wait, wasn’t this place supposed to be super dangerous? And now they’re just going up like that?
Fang Xiu only smiled and said nothing.
He walked up to one set of stairs first. As soon as he lifted his foot past the step, he stepped into thin air.
“Looks like this path is no good.”
The second stairwell, however, allowed them to go up.
The group started testing each path one step at a time, slowly working through by brute-force exploration.
Guan He swallowed hard.
The darkness was thick, and the ghost flame only lit up a small area. The space around them was a twisted labyrinth of flipped spiraling staircase. It was like walking through an endless nightmare where they couldn’t even identify the start and end.
Worse still, these stairs mixed reality with illusion. Even basic spatial orientation—up, down, left, right—was distorted by hallucinations.
Some spots looked like floors and stairs, but stepping on them meant falling through thin air.
Others looked upside down but were safe to walk across. One railing looked perfectly normal, until the moment someone tried to grab it and nearly went tumbling headfirst.
At the front, Song Zheng was cautious to the extreme.
After four hours, they had only managed to climb two floors.
When they reached the twenty-ninth branching point, they hit another dead end and had to carefully turn back again. There were still many more forks waiting to be tested.
Guan He was dizzy and disoriented. “At this rate, how long are we gonna be stuck here…”
…If they come back tomorrow, will the layout reset?
…If they have to do this all over again, will they even be able to find this spot again?
…And when they leave tonight with nothing to show for it, Fang Xiu’s going to slice off another thirteen pounds of flesh!
This pace was suffocating. For a brief moment, Guan He even considered just joining Song Zheng’s “guess the size” game. At least they could rest and sort their thoughts.
Reaching a narrow and steep high stair, Guan He stopped and leaned over his knees, panting.
Even though it was a descent, Song Zheng still led the way up front. Seeing Guan He gasping, he chuckled.
“Tired, huh?”
Song Zheng stood steadily on the next platform and held out both hands. “Come on, I’ll help you up. Watch your step.”
The “Murderous Intent Seismograph” in his hands was completely quiet.
Guan He leaned forward, about to reach out, when Fang Xiu grabbed his arm from behind.
“Thank you for your company,” Fang Xiu said to “Song Zheng” on the platform. “As an illusion, you really are thoughtful.”
Guan He: “?!”
Cheng Songyun staggered, nearly losing her balance. Bai Shuangying tilted his head at “Song Zheng”, narrowing his eyes. A few seconds later, a flash of surprise crossed his gaze.
…It really was an illusion.
This illusion was so natural. Bai Shuangying had been scanning the surroundings and hadn’t tested Song Zheng at all.
Now, he turned to his human, eyes full of interest. Fang Xiu had no knowledge of metaphysics, so how had he figured it out?
“Song Zheng” kept a straight face. “Don’t joke around. We’ve been together this whole time… Fang Xiu, are you okay? You sure you’re not under a spell?”
Guan He instinctively glanced back and forth between Song Zheng and Fang Xiu. Cheng Songyun firmly grabbed him and stood on Fang Xiu’s side.
Fang Xiu smiled. “The Huanxi E is really intelligent, but it still can’t replace a human. You slipped up at the very beginning. I just wanted to see how you’d make your move.”
“Thanks to you, I understand this place much better now.”
Guan He: “Slipped up at the beginning?!”
He hadn’t noticed anything strange about Song Zheng.
Fang Xiu glanced at the two and explained, “When we first arrived, he said, ‘lucky ones lost half, unlucky ones were wiped out.’”
“If it were really that dangerous, would Song Zheng have waited until we got in here to tell us?”
Guan He: “Ah…”
Song Zheng crossed his arms. “People slip up. What’s the big deal?”
“So then I targeted you with killing intent, but your ‘Murder-Intent Seismoscope’ didn’t react.” Fang Xiu said, “An illusion is an illusion. Fake things don’t cut it.”
Cheng Songyun and Guan He: “…”
Killing intent is something you can just casually whip up like that…?
“Your killing intent wasn’t pure.” Song Zheng frowned. “Alright, enough messing around. Let’s head back first.”
Fang Xiu didn’t budge. “And lastly, the place you’re standing? There’s nothing there.”
“If Xiao Guan had stepped down, he’d have fallen straight down the stairs. Then you’d cover it up as an accident, and we’d rush to help, making it easier for you to trick us into falling too.”
The expression disappeared from Song Zheng’s face.
A second later, “Song Zheng” bared his teeth and gave the same smile that the casino host would welcome guest with.
He—or rather, it—spoke in a creepy, robotic tone. “How did you know there was no floor there?”
Fang Xiu shifted the ghost flame to his middle finger, then flipped it up. “Don’t underestimate humans, lines of code.”
“Song Zheng” stared at him for a few seconds, then burst like a soap bubble and vanished.
Fang Xiu caught his breath and stepped to the front of the group. “From here on out, I’ll lead. Don’t step wrong.”
Having just grazed past death, Guan He broke out in a cold sweat. His legs had gone weak and he sat down for a while before he could even move.
“What about the real Song Zheng?” Cheng Songyun asked worriedly.
Seeing they weren’t in the mood to go on, Fang Xiu decided to take a break too. “He was probably lured away by another illusion. Let’s hope his instincts and skills are enough.”
Guan He was still panting. “What even is this place? Could we be illusions? Could everyone be illusions?”
Fang Xiu laughed: “The Huanxi E is just a gambling app. It’s not that smart. Think about it… It doesn’t have the ability to ‘create’ things.”
All those apartment rooms were connected by karmic threads. They all exist in reality.
The stunning casino games and unrealistically beautiful staff were just enhancements on the idea of “sexy dealers dealing live”.
Even the fancy food, villas, and lovers on the menu all needed people to choose them first. After that, the Huanxi E probably scours its “karmic database” for the info and modifies it.
That dazzling “Huanxi World” was, in the end, built from human imagination and karma.
“…Right now it can only fake the setting, throw in a phony version of Song Zheng, and hope we slip up.”
Saying that, Fang Xiu couldn’t help but sighed.
“Because up to now, we’ve never ‘used’ the app. It has no karmic ties to our lives.”
Under the ghostly red light, both Guan He and Cheng Songyun froze.
It was true. They’d never gambled, never redeemed any chips. That free token had been hoarded, used only to block the death taboo.
Guan He felt a cold shiver crawl up the back of his neck. “Don’t tell me…”
“Yup. This is the ‘easiest mode’ of the ‘Emergency Exit’.” Fang Xiu said, “If people who’ve traded away loved ones with blood debts came here… The Huanxi E knows their karma inside out. Those illusions would be something else.”
Guan He looked around at the pitch-black surroundings, the staircase chaos like a drunk Hogwarts. He felt that “easiest” was… arguable.
Cheng Songyun seemed lost in thought. She dug her nails into her palm expressionlessly.
“So that’s it for tonight.” Her tone was a bit unhinged. “We know what it looks like in there but still don’t know how to walk it. If I can resolve my emotional knots and stabilize the karmic thread…”
“Cheng Jie, aren’t you curious?” Fang Xiu cut her off. “Why did I know that platform was actually empty? Even the Huanxi E was curious.”
Cheng Songyun stared blankly at him.
Fang Xiu spoke softly, “No matter how the Huanxi E decorates it, its still just illusions overlaid on reality. Which means, we’re inside a real, physical building.”
At present, from what he could tell, the “Emergency Exit” was special. There was no karmic interference from others here.
If the casino was like a movie set slapped on reality to confuse everyone equally, then for the three of them, the Emergency Exit was like a lightly airbrushed version; it was still masking things, but closest to reality.
Fang Xiu wasn’t sure yet what the place meant, or where it led.
But the Huanxi E was clearly terrified of the Emergency Exit. That had to mean it was their best breakthrough point.
After entering, Fang Xiu had memorized every step, every climb, building a mental model of the structure.
After all, real buildings follow logic. If he could figure out the real stair layout, he could pinpoint the voids and fake turns. Once he fully understood it, the illusions would no longer work on him.
Hopefully, this building isn’t too complex, he thought.
“Here, I can deduce the real layout from the path we walked.” Fang Xiu smiled at Cheng Songyun. “It’s slower than tracing the karmic line, but we should have enough time. Just go at your own pace.”
Cheng Songyun responded quietly, nails still digging into her palm.
At 11:30 p.m., a flash of light returned them to the lobby. Fang Xiu quickly scanned the area and spotted Song Zheng curled up on the ground in a defensive crouch.
He looked more like a mushroom in that position.
Fang Xiu: “Mr. Song.”
Song Zheng: “…Ah!”
Song Zheng staggered to his feet, looking like his legs were numb, and cursed under his breath. Seeing the three of them were okay, he finally relaxed.
“Shit. That place is fucked up,” Song Zheng shuddered. “As soon as I walked in, I was back at the office, you know? All my coworkers were there, asking me to go to lunch…”
His intuition had screamed. He’d immediately squatted down and didn’t move an inch.
No matter what his “coworkers” said, or even when his “boss” came to yell at him, Song Zheng didn’t react at all. He held that defensive position and stayed there for five straight hours.
Fang Xiu: “You didn’t see any stairs?”
“Stairs? What stairs?” Song Zheng was bewildered.
Seeing the casino doors were open, Fang Xiu winked at his two teammates, then said to Song Zheng, “We’ll talk in detail tomorrow.”
……
Inside the mountain-view room, Fang Xiu was skillfully butchering Shang Debao.
The good news: Shang Debao’s corpse hadn’t rotted. It was well-preserved. This time it was half an arm and a full right leg, about 40 pounds of human flesh was carved off.
No one knew whether it would become “free rice porridge”, or someone’s “custom gourmet meal” on their dinner table.
After dismembering the body, Fang Xiu rolled up his left pant leg above the knee. Though he was thin, his bone structure was excellent, and his skin was clean and smooth.
“Bai Shuangying, I’ll trouble you again today.” His tone was light.
“Why the left leg?” Bai Shuangying asked, puzzled.
Fang Xiu had already lost his left arm. For balance, removing the right leg would make more sense.
Fang Xiu touched the smooth, intact calf. “Not the right one. It has a scar.”
Bai Shuangying: “The others won’t even taste the difference.”
Fang Xiu burst out laughing, nearly tearing up from it.
“That scar’s important. I want it to stay with me a bit longer,” he explained vaguely.
Bai Shuangying said nothing and silently accepted the bone-cleaving knife. Under the moonlight, the blade flashed cold.
…Another perfectly weighed thirteen pounds of flesh.
Unfortunately, Fang Xiu was too skinny. He couldn’t keep the kneecap. Only his left thigh was left.
Yesterday’s pain hadn’t faded, and now a new, larger wound had joined in.
Fang Xiu hissed sharply, his eyes reddening with pain. Even so, he forced himself to stay upright, wobbling but not falling.
“Cut off Shang Debao’s left leg for me. I need a prosthetic,” Fang Xiu said hoarsely, pointing at the body.
Bai Shuangying: “I can carry you.”
“Thanks, but not yet,” Fang Xiu managed a weak smile. “I’m not that pathetic just yet.”
Shang Debao’s corpse had stiffened. He’d been fairly sturdy, and his leg was a bit thicker than Fang Xiu’s. Bai Shuangying cut it to the correct length, but the girth was off.
Fang Xiu didn’t complain. He silently tore apart the left side of his pants and strapped the oversized corpse-leg to himself.
Without a knee, movement was difficult. He couldn’t bend it at all. The leg could only be dragged along the ground, providing minimal support.
The image was pitiful, which made Fang Xiu quite pleased.
If he had time tomorrow, he’d try to find a stick or something. Maybe he could use it as a cane for climbing stairs… Damn, the new wound hurt even worse than the old one.
The intense pain blurred his vision and gave him tinnitus.
Fang Xiu sat down on the edge of the bed, pressing his forehead against his ghost’s chest and abdomen, soaking in that cool comfort.
As he suspected, Bai Shuangying didn’t offer any sympathy or consolation.
An icy hand lightly touched the top of Fang Xiu’s head, hovering just close enough to feel, but never quite settling.
Then Bai Shuangying said, “I looked closely. Inside the ‘Emergency Exit’, the illusions are precise but lack any design for change. When you go back in tonight, it’ll still be the same as yesterday.”
Fang Xiu: “…Good. That saves us a lot of trouble.”
Bai Shuangying nodded.
The room fell into silence, broken only by Fang Xiu’s labored, pain-filled breathing.
Bai Shuangying reached out and untied the bandages around Fang Xiu’s left leg. The ugly corpse-leg landed on the floor with a dull sound.
Before Fang Xiu could react, Bai Shuangying scooped him up and tucked him under one arm.
Fang Xiu: “???”
Now that he’d lost twenty-six pounds of flesh, he weighed less than a hundred and thirty-two pounds. Carrying him was no different from carrying some luggage.
His ghost dumped him in the bathtub with a splash, then jumped in after him. The familiar icy water hit the wound, making Fang Xiu shudder.
Before he could speak, Bai Shuangying’s true form emerged from the water and gently covered Fang Xiu’s eyes.
Bai Shuangying: “Rest.”
With his eyes covered tightly, Fang Xiu flailed for a moment. “But we still need to help Cheng Jie catch the ghost…”
“Rest,” Bai Shuangying repeated. “This is a command from a friend.”
Friends don’t give each other commands…
Fang Xiu thought that, but still kept quiet, obediently sinking into Bai Shuangying’s body. Anyway, Cheng Jie was just next door. If he was late, she and Guan He would probably come find him.
…A short nap counts as resting, right?
Fang Xiu closed his eyes.
His two wounds were numb and cold, the pain fading into a dull ache. Surrounded by Bai Shuangying, he felt safe and relaxed.
After two days of torment, he fell asleep almost instantly.
The next moment, Bai Shuangying opened his eyes. His pale gaze turned in a certain direction, glowing faintly in the dark.
Next door.
Cheng Songyun was just about to step out when a white phantom suddenly appeared before her. She opened her mouth to scream, but caught herself. Her dead husband didn’t have such long black hair, nor was he this young or handsome.
It was Fang Xiu’s seductive ghost. What was he doing here alone?
The phantom of Bai Shuangying loomed over Cheng Songyun got straight to the point. “I’m here to teach you how to stabilize karma.”
Cheng Songyun immediately focused. “Did Fang Xiu ask you to?”
“Do you want to learn or not?” Bai Shuangying couldn’t be bothered to explain, outright ignoring her question.
“…Yes.”
A seductive ghost probably knew a thing or two about romantic bonds. Cheng Songyun figured he might actually be the right kind of expert for this.
Then Bai Shuangying said, “Tonight, you’re sleeping here. Don’t turn on the Resentful Ghost Shield.”
As he spoke, he hooked his hand, and the red karmic thread gently coiled around his elegant fingers in an intimate gesture.
Bai Shuangying continued expressionlessly. “Your husband didn’t become a ghost and still has lots of lingering karma. That means he died with strong attachments. I’ll help you identify his obsession.”
“From here on, it’s up to you.”
The author has something to say:
While writing this, I suddenly thought of that doodle of the little stick figure hugging a cat and escaping through the “Emergency Exit”…
Kinky Translations 