Chapter 89#
Genesis Eleven#
“I don’t understand,” Xiatei said. “Why would anyone say they don’t want to see you again?”
Night descended upon the hall, shadows of pillars perching like butterflies on the deity’s shoulders.
It said: “That’s his nature.”
“Yet you are the most calm and powerful deity across countless epochs. Before today, I never saw you troubled.” Xiatei hesitated as she spoke: “Getting along harmoniously with believers shouldn’t be harder than establishing paradise itself.”
She finished and waited for the deity’s response. The deity’s temperament wasn’t cold; it was actually quite gentle. Sometimes she would see It playing with lost children in the halls. Yet after seeing that young person today, It seemed to become heavy with melancholy.
After a long while, she heard the deity’s voice, like a sigh.
It lowered Its head, gently touching an ancient scratch on the knight’s helmet.
“I have lived too long,” It said. “Seeing him, I always recall the past, hesitate without decide.”
Xiatei lit a wind lantern and handed it to the deity. The candlelight reflected on Its profile, and that familiar, gentle, peaceful expression returned to the deity’s eyes.
“But you’re right, girl.”
Though unsure what role she’d played, Xiatei still smiled slightly, pressing her lips together.
She hoped that this time the deity would wake and not sleep again too soon. She hoped the time accompanying it like this would be longer, much longer.
“These things are simple to explain. You obtain a world, attempt to dominate its power, and your will becomes that world’s rules. Rules govern power; power operating under fixed rules manifests as a world with appearance,” Claros said.
After saying this, he continued: “But doing it is very hard. It’s like… with the same box of paints, a painter can create an artwork, while Murphy, despite great effort, can only produce an ugly landscape painting. Rarely can anyone establish beautiful rules for their own world.”
“But constructing a world is even harder than painting is for Murphy, because you must harvest the paint yourself from the eternal night,” Claros said. “Sometimes certain deities possess perfectly complete rules like castles in the air, but lack corresponding power.”
“One lacks a single blade of grass to make rules function, so must obtain a world with grass. But that world not only has grass—it might have trees. Trees don’t fit the established rules, so he must modify them. But the new rules require a flower, forcing him to continue hunting in the eternal night. Thus the cycle repeats—”
The pain on Claros’s face was so genuine, as if this were his own lived experience. Yu Feichen felt a trace of sympathy arise.
“Of course, this is just a metaphor,” Claros added. “In any case, everyone is patching things up, full of loopholes, getting by as best they can.”
Yu Feichen: “Even the supreme deity?”
“No. Its territory is vast and indestructible, called ‘Eternal Day,’” Claros said.
Yu Feichen: “What about you?”
“Me…” Claros smiled slightly. “At my best, not much worse than It.”
Out of courtesy between people, Yu Feichen didn’t ask why you’re stuck here as a gatekeeper.
But Claros seemed to read his thoughts.
“Because you’re still young,” his eyes showed faint melancholy. “You don’t yet understand how precious it is for someone to stand before you, shielding you from wind and rain—something countless people desperately desire.”
Sighing, he continued: “During the time I possessed the most power, I felt I’d raised ten billion red-eyed rabid dogs. Every morning I woke, worrying whether I and my people had already been devoured.”
Finishing, he laughed strangely: “Now I’ve finally handed the mad dogs off to someone else, and I sleep well every day.”
After Claros spoke, he showed Yu Feichen a stack of books as tall as two people, saying these were his accumulated experiences across years regarding power classification, combination, taming, and suppression.
“Take your time reading.”
Yu Feichen began reading.
When Claros woke from dozing, intending to witness Yu Feichen’s miserable drowsy state, he instead found the man had already set the books down, facing his own world’s phantom.
That world was shifting unpredictably under Yu Feichen’s control, its power pathways flowing smoothly and simply—one could say beautifully.
Some people are born masters.
Claros closed his eyes and continued sleeping. He was different, a born waste. His sole hope was that the supreme deity lived a few more days. If not, then his hope was that It would quickly find paradise a reliable successor, allowing him to continue his quiet routine of opening and closing doors.
Yu Feichen remained on the thirteenth floor.
Initially, doves brought messages from Bai Song, who rambled endlessly about what he’d seen in paradise, circling around “I’m running out of money.”
After transferring funds, Bai Song said again that Yu-ge, he’d accumulated a belly full of new gossip to tell, like deeper stories about the gatekeeper and official Murphy.
Yu Feichen hung up on him.
Claros caught half a sentence and mused: “If Murphy comes looking for me, you might consider hiding.”
Unfortunately, over a dozen days passed with not even Murphy’s shadow appearing—it was peaceful indeed.
—Until finally one day, Claros pulled up his hood and returned to the iron throne: “Work time.”
A new epoch, and the Door of Eternal Night would open again. Yu Feichen didn’t stay long, gathering the books he hadn’t finished reading and returning to the Giant Tree Inn. His tree house was adjacent to Bai Song’s. Before stepping through the door, he saw Bai Song poking his head from the window, frantically winking.
Yu Feichen: “I don’t want to hear about Claros and Murphy’s story.”
“But it’s such a touching tale, Yu-ge—they’ve slept together. No—I’m not saying that, you’re leading me astray.” Bai Song pointed at Yu Feichen’s door: “A beautiful guy is waiting for you inside.”
“?” Yu Feichen recalled the employers who’d wanted to enter his room before and suddenly found Bai Song unbearably obnoxious: “You let him in?”
Bai Song’s gaze was sincere, full of anticipation: “But he’s really beautiful. He’s your type, Yu-ge.”
Yu Feichen wasn’t curious about who the “beautiful guy” was.
Yet he was confused about Bai Song’s second half.
He asked: “What’s my type?”
“Isn’t it…” Bai Song made a gesture. “Commander Anphiel, Pope Ludwig, and Little Brother Anphiel all mixed together?”
Yu Feichen: “…”
He suddenly knew who Bai Song’s beautiful guy was.