Chapter 29#
Chapter 29#
At Creation · IV
The Painter said that when a person suddenly arrives in Paradise from the world they came from, the first things they feel are overwhelming unreality and unease.
Although admitting one’s own confusion and unease is difficult, the Painter wasn’t wrong.Back then, he’d looked into the distance at the vast, snow‑white tower rising before him. A vortex pressed down from the sky, and the ground shimmered with iridescent light—everything in that scene spoke only of illusion.
Bai Song asked him cautiously, “And then?”
What happened afterward was very simple.
He first realized that this was not a dream, and then he began a long wait right where he stood.
Some people asked if he needed help, some tried to sell him things, and others asked if he was lost.
But he could not move from that spot—there were too many people coming and going. If he took even one step forward, he would never be able to return to the exact point where he’d arrived, and then no one would be able to find him.
Bai Song nodded. “When I was little, my mom told me that if I got lost, I shouldn’t wander around, I should stay where I was.”
Yu Feichen looked at him. “You need to remember that now too.”
“…”
Bai Song changed the subject. “And then? Did he come?”
No.
At first, every time someone tapped his shoulder from behind, he thought the long wait had finally ended.
But every time he turned around, it was only a passerby asking questions he couldn’t entirely understand.
Gradually, his mood stopped changing altogether when someone tapped him or tried to speak to him.
There was no day or night in this place. He seemed to have lost all sense of hunger and cold. Only the endless echoing of a bell from who knows where, rang again and again without end.
He was not an impatient person. He knew that given enough time, dripping water could wear through stone; yet if the weather was cold enough, even falling droplets would freeze in midair.
After the 365th chime, he gave up.
Some things, if they won’t come no matter how long you wait, then you stop waiting. He knew that his path was destined to be walked alone.
So he left.
Those 365 bell tolls were the only time in his life when he’d ever wanted to rely on someone else, he’d never felt that way before, and never would again.
What came later was simply being taken to the Ninth Layer to meet the God of Art and Inspiration.
That god, who called himself the Painter, noticed something amiss and asked about his situation.
“You weren’t supposed to be left behind, this almost never happens.” The Painter frowned deeply, but could reach no conclusion.
In the end, the Painter gave him three Radiant Shards. They were rectangular, smaller than paper bills and thin as cicada wings, supposedly the common currency here.
Following the Painter’s directions, he used the first shard to buy a translation orb so he could fully understand all languages. The second he used to hire a guide, who helped him understand the workings of this place.
The third shard, the Painter told him to spend on a drink on Sunset Street, buy some food, and rent a room at an inn—but he didn’t use it.
The guide told him many things, but only three mattered to him.
First, if you want Radiant Shards, you take on missions.
Second, the believers in Paradise really can bring people from the outside world here.
Third, every 3,650 bell tolls, Paradise celebrates a grand holiday called Homecoming Day.
“Homecoming Day?” Bai Song repeated the unfamiliar words.
Yu Feichen explained using phrasing more familiar to Bai Song: “Like Sundays, when you were in school.”
On Homecoming Day, all mission zones would shut down. Everyone can go to the God of Ritual and Celebration on the Tenth Floor of the Tower of Creation and receive a quick teleportation to any world they want to visit—be it their homeland, or any world they feel attached to.
“That’s wonderful.” Bai Song’s eyes lit up. “So we can go back to Korosha? I want to know how Gann is doing.”
Korosha.
Perhaps they could return someday. Yu Feichen gave a soft “mm.”
Once that world is fully claimed by the Main God and becomes part of the Sea of Dust, Bai Song would be able to visit it on some future Homecoming Day.
“That’s great!” Overwhelmed by the idea of going home, Bai Song grabbed Yu Feichen’s hand. “And then? Brother Yu, you went home, right? What about the person who brought you here? How was he? Was he still there?”
Yu Feichen shook his head.
“I went to the Tenth Floor,” he said.
“You don’t know your world’s code or designation? No problem.” The God of Celebration was a kindly, festive-looking old man stroking his white beard. “Just describe your world, and I’ll help you locate your home.”
So Yu Feichen began describing it. As he spoke, miniature projections of countless worlds floated through the resplendent ceremonial hall. The longer he spoke, the fewer worlds remained. He knew then that if he described things precisely enough, the God of Celebration would accurately identify his homeland.
“How miraculous,” Bai Song murmured. Yu Feichen didn’t know whether it was miraculous.
Because in the end, the space before him was completely empty—not a single world remained.
The god and his assistants all looked at him and asked whether he had remembered something wrong.
But he knew very clearly that he had not.
“No world within the territory of the gods matches your description.” The God of Celebration shook his head and made his judgment. “You must have misremembered something. Come again next time, child.”
From that day on, his past became a void. And it was also that day that he accepted, truly accepted, the reality of being in Paradise.
No matter where he came from, no matter how he arrived, he would keep moving forward.
After that day, he never looked back.
He wandered across countless dangerous worlds with countless strangers, and met nearly every god in charge of their respective domains.
But he still could not accept this place.
Everything done, said, or taught here felt like indoctrination, a coercion—
You must love this land you never loved.
You must worship the God you never believed in.
Because God’s blessings fills all of Paradise, and God’s power is always with you.
—They wanted him to find joy in lack of freedom, to feel happiness in being ruled.
But he did not like it.
And so he was destined to walk the longest road.
The battles, trials, and hardships of countless worlds made him thousands of times stronger than he once was, but Paradise could never tame him. He’d completed countless missions, saved countless lives; he did not resent these things. But he was not born to be tamed or ruled.
Yu Feichen ended this recollection with a final sentence.
“I don’t believe in anything,” he told Bai Song. “I hope you don’t either.”
Bai Song looked troubled. “But, Brother Yu… how can I have your level of enlightenment?”
Looking melancholy, he took a sip of his liquor. “I only just turned twenty-three, Brother Yu. I’m not mature enough yet.”
Yu Feichen: “…?”
He asked, “Isn’t that old enough?”
“How is that enough?” Bai Song muttered, “Brother Yu, how old wereyouback then?”
Yu Feichen asked what he meant by ‘back then’. Bai Song said, when he first arrived in Paradise.
Yu Feichen frowned slightly, thinking back. It was hard for him to remember accurately.
“Twenty… maybe twenty-one, I guess.”
“So young!” Bai Song almost dropped his cup. “Then Brother Yu, you—” Bai Song grew more excited, and his questions started straying further from the topic. “What was your world like? What did you do? What did you look like? Brother Yu, don’t tell me you were still in school? Oh my god, that’ssocute.”
Yu Feichen was now certain Bai Song really had a few screws loose.
“I’d graduated,” he said.
Bai Song’s eyes sparkled unnaturally in excitement. “Tell me more.”
Yu Feichen really didn’t want to. But knowing Bai Song, if he didn’t talk today, he would likely face endless pestering afterward.
And Bai Song was no longer just a nodding acquaintance, but a teammate he would be running missions with. Yu Feichen envisioned a horrifying scene: they were trapped in danger and at a critical moment, he’d suddenly hear a voice pipe up by his ear: “Tell me more.”
It wasn’t too hard to explain anyway. The world he came from had a structure similar to Bai Song’s, so there it wouldn’t be difficult to describe.
But whenever he tried to recall the past, a feeling of emptiness followed like a shadow.
He could not even confirm whether that world truly existed, or whether it had truly been where his life began.
But beyond that was only blank space, and his arrival to Paradise had begun from that world.
“In your world, the source of power was science, the ruling units were nations… and it had reached the era of development of firearms. Mine was similar, but probably about… a hundred or two hundred years more advanced.” He spoke slowly as he chose his words, but that was fine; teammates weren’t employers, he didn’t need to provide meticulous service.
“My appearance back then was the same as now.”
Black hair and eyes—nothing remarkable.
“Brother Yu, you’re so good-looking. Really.”
Yu Feichen ignored him and continued: “I remember you served in the military.”
Bai Song nodded. “I even attended a military academy.”
“I also graduated from military school. I drove—”
Bai Song: “Trucks?”
Yu Feichen had to take a sip of his liquor to maintain his composure. “I would prefer if you spoke less.”
Bai Song shut his mouth. Anyone who could silence a Gatekeeper must truly be extraordinary.
“Planes,” Yu Feichen said. “It was an airforce academy.”
Bai Song exclaimed in surprise. “Brother Yu is amazing, you must have been piloting fighter jets.”
But he was wrong again.
“No, carrier-based aircrafts.”
“What’s that?”
“At sea. Aboard a mothership,” Yu Feichen explained.
(T/N : The mothership refers to an aircraft carrier. The carrier-based aircrafts launch from the flight decks of aircraft carriers)
In that world, oceans covered more surface than land.
And among all weapons designed for naval warfare, the most complex and powerful, the pinnacle of military force, was a massive steel vessel called a “mothership”. A mothership was a colossal mobile fortress on the sea, with immense power, deadly weaponry, and served as an airbase.
Aircrafts serving the mothership were called carrier-based aircrafts. Only the best graduates from the finest air force academies could qualify to fly them.
“Why?”
“Because the mothership moves,” Yu Feichen said. Landing and taking off on a moving deck required procedures completely different from the land. The runway was only half the usual length, and extremely difficult to handle. The risks at wartime were also the greatest.
However, in that world he lived only until twenty—or twenty-one—and hadn’t spent many years at sea. He had no accomplishments worth mentioning, and had never won a real war.
“I think a war was about to start, and then my aircraft and I were shot down. That’s all.”
He finished his drink, stood, and headed downstairs.
“Hey! Brother Yu!” Bai Song ran after him. “You’re definitely lying to me!”
Yu Feichen denied it.
Bai Song didn’t believe him.
“I’d rather not talk about that world anymore. I hope you remember that.”
Not far downstairs, Yu Feichen bought Bai Song a translation orb and shoved it into his head, then hired him a tour guide.
Guide services had increased to two Radiant Shards these days. Bai Song reached toward him, desperately wanting to say more, but the guide ushered him away with a cheerful smile.
Yu Feichen had talked enough today. Everything else should be handled by professionals. He would return to the inn.
The Giant Tree Inn lived up to its name—it was a massive tree. Larger than an entire forest in the outside world, its deep green foliage held countless star-like treehouses, including a room he had been renting long term.
Lying on the bed, he looked at his palm.
Clench, release.
Clench again, release again.
Not an illusion. His strength and bodily control had all risen by a full level. This was theoretically impossible, since everyone in Paradise had fixed physical attributes—to prevent fights.
But his bodyhadchanged.
There was only one explanation. When the shattered concentration camp in the Gate of Eternal Night collapsed, he had gained that power. A power drawn directly from an external world, and cannot be taken away by god or man.
Such power was exactly what he’d sought for years—something like experience, skills, and knowledge, something that could truly belong to him.
Gaining these things, feeling himself grow stronger, able to control more and more—was addictive. Just like when he had first arrived at sea, he had loved practicing takeoffs and landings on the flight deck day and night.
Realizing what he was thinking, Yu Feichen stopped himself.
He had drunk too much.
Those memories were not pleasant ones. Just like the time right after he’d arrived in Paradise, it was something he had long decided to forget forever.
He didn’t know when he would next enter the Gate of Eternal Night. Claros said it had no pattern.
A bell tolled, signifying the end of another day in Paradise. Bai Song had been taken away by the guide and would likely need a day and a half to return.
With nothing else to do, Yu Feichen closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Everything around him swayed gently. At the boundary of sleep and waking, he recognized it as the treehouse moving slightly in the wind.
Paradise was safe, there was no need for vigilance. He had long grown accustomed to the wave-like motion.
Surrounded by the faint scent of pine nut liquor, he allowed himself to sink into the water.
Water.
Rivers.
The sea.
—The nighttime waves rose and fell, like a black curtain endlessly rolling in the wind.
But the mothership at night was a fortress of blazing lights, solid as rock, unmoving.
He held his slightly sweat‑dampened helmet in his arms, goggles hanging from his shoulder, and pushed open the dormitory door.
His roommates were playing cards. The ones who’d been his roommates in school were still his roommates now.
“You’ve logged off?” one asked.
“Yeah.”
They continued playing cards.
He tidied up, washed up, changed clothes, then opened an online course.
One roommate immediately ended his game and cautiously leaned over to inspect what he was studying. After checking, he said, “Aren’t you bored?”
“No.”
“Leave him alone, he was born like this,” another roommate said, “A guy who’s addicted to takeoff and landing’s not gonna findanythingboring. Seven must’ve been a statue in his past life. If the CO asks us to practice takeoff again tomorrow, IswearI’m gonna puke.”
“Seven’s life can be summed up in a few words,” the third roommate snickered while shuffling cards.
“Onboard, offboard. Take off, landing. Practice, study. Finish reports.”
The fourth roommate chimed in, “You forgot one more, talking back to the CO.”
The fifth roommate added gleefully, “And getting punished by the CO.”
“Seven,” the sixth roommate said, “it’s your turn to be on duty in the CO’s office tomorrow.”
There were eight people in the dorm. He was number seven.
Before number eight could open his mouth, Yu Feichen put on noise‑cancelling headphones. Peace was restored to the world.
Duty in the commanding officer’s office was the most boring job in the world.
It could also be summarized in a few words:
Serve tea, pour water.
Water the plants, feed the fish.
Wipe the tables, sweep the floors.
Their commanding officer was young and perfectly able-bodied, but wouldn’t even lift a finger to save a falling ink bottle. He was far harder to handle than the most complex aircraft, with some of his orders being nearly incomprehensible. Thus, his (YFC) duty also included four more steps:
Questioning orders, talking back.
Resulting in punishment, and extra chores.
Every time it was his turn to be on duty, his mood would be terrible.
But every time it was someone else’s turn, they would cheer, “Finallyit’s my turn! No flying today! WOOHOO I love the boss man!”
—it made him extremely uncomfortable.
So no matter how he looked at that officer, he found him unpleasant.
And anything he found unpleasant was dangerous.
Like a misadjusted instrument before takeoff, or a latch not fully secured when loading a gun, which if not dealt with immediately, could get him killed.
—or like that officer, who reallydidget him killed in the end.
The swaying continued.
Rocking, rising, falling—the undulating sea.
The gentle seawater pulled him downward. Wreckage and fire vanished; before him was only endless blue, and within the blue, a golden light grew brighter and brighter.
He reached upward, but drifted farther and farther from the light.
In the silence of the water, a faint, familiar voice rang in his ears.
…Whose voice was it? He remembered having sent Four away to evacuate withthatperson first.
His eyes widened. Above the water, the light grew dazzling— and suddenly, he remembered a day.
That day, the weather at sea was clear.
Sunlight glared off the flight deck.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and Eight were practicing takeoffs and landings outside, while he was being punished to stand by the office’s porthole.
The punishment was supposed to last one hour, but two hours had passed and no one had called him back.
If the order had come from any other instructor or superior on the mothership, he would have stood still, continuing the punishment.
But the one who punished him wasthatofficer.
The third hour passed, and still no summons.
The officer must have forgotten.
Expressionless, he pushed open the office door and walked to the desk overflowing with greenery, preparing to at least grit out a “Sir.”
But the word was swallowed back the next instant.
Behind the desk, the officer was resting his right fist against his temple, head slightly lowered, eyes closed. Sunlight streamed through the porthole, shining through the leaves of the plants, and illuminated the man’s eyelashes until they glimmered translucent.
He was asleep.
The mothership was endlessly busy, and the officer had been working non-stop for days.
Yu Feichen sighed quietly, and decided to return outside to continue his punishment, this time determined to stand even closer to the porthole.
That way, the moment this person woke, he’d be overcome with guilt for making someone stand an extra four or five hours.
Not only that, Yu Feichen gently shifted the flower pot leftward, so the sunlight wouldn’t hit the officer’s eyes and he could sleep a little longer.
But that was a mistake. The moment the pot moved, the sleeping man slowly opened his eyes.
The sunlight lit the dust motes drifting through the air, and he suddenly saw, beneath the officer’s right eye, a tiny shimmering mark.
At first glance, he thought,He’s crying.
At a second glance—
Flames erupted, consuming everything. The sky turned blood red. A girl’s sobbing filled his ears. Amid the charred ruins and raging fire, Captain Anfield lifted his face toward him.
Yu Feichen’s eyes flew open!
The ceiling of the treehouse hung quietly overhead. Wind rustled through the giant tree’s leaves, making the room sway gently.
He stared blankly upward, the sensations of drowning and burning still clinging to him like a leech. His heart hammered. His breathing was ragged, like he’d just woken from a bizarre nightmare
Right eye, a mole—
He gasped sharply and shut his eyes. The great warship enlarged in his mind again and again, every detail vivid—the texture of the deck, the jokes of One through Six and Eight echoing in his ears.
Dormitory.
Hallway.
Porthole.
Cockpit.
Sky.
Ocean—
He could not stop himself from overturning all his earliest memories, like dumping a box of stored clutter onto the floor and desperately rummaging through it on his knees.
But no matter how much he searched, he could not find what he was looking for.
He couldn’t find it.
He had completely forgottenthatperson’s face.
There was nothing.
—It was all gone.
His heartbeat and breathing slowly steadied. The blood of his younger years had surged in his dreams for a moment, then cooled again.
He got up and splashed cold water on his face. Outside the window, dappled shadows flickered between the leaves. Paradise was peaceful and serene as always.
No matter which officer, it’s all in the past. Everything was an illusion, he told himself.
“Sir?” A tree-like attendant with transparent wings poked his head in through the window. “Do you require assistance?”
“Ice water.”
The attendant obediently answered, and moments later a vine delivered a cup of ice water to him.
He took the glass but did not drink, only using the cold to steady himself.
“Are you alright?” the attendant asked. “Do you need anything else?”
“No,” he said. “Thank you.”
He really wasn’t all right—far from it.
He couldn’t even remember the last time his emotions had fluctuated this violently.
And the culprits, the source of all evil, were the pale pine nut liquor and Bai Song’s incessant jabbering.
(T/N : Fun fact, Bai Song’s name actually translates to white pine)
Three minutes later, he finally drank the ice water.
His memories gradually emptied, and everything returned to normal.
Just then, a system’s voice sounded in his ears.
“The Gate of Eternal Night has opened. Countdown: 10, 9, 8, 7…”
Alongside the cold countdown came a second, more cheerful system voice:
“Dear guest, a friendly reminder from the Gatekeeper: The world you are about to enter has: Intensity 4, Amplitude 7, out of a maximum of 10.”
“…3, 2, 1. Good luck.”
“Good luck!”
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-Syeki
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