Chapter 90#
Genesis Twelve#
Yu Feichen: “When did he arrive?”
“Several days ago,” Bai Song’s expression became besotted. “He’s really good.”
Yu Feichen: “?”
“The beautiful guy asked me where you went and when you’d return. I didn’t know, so he said he’d just wait for you here.”
Yu Feichen: “He’s been here the whole time?”
“No, during the day the beautiful guy goes to Sunset Street to stay in a tavern, just staring down at things in a daze. He also took us to a few places few people know about to see the scenery. Oh, and the beautiful guy listened to the guide’s gossip with us and even corrected a few details.”
Bai Song said: “It’s a shame we asked his name and he wouldn’t say. The guide said this must be a romantic entanglement Yu-god brought from an old mission—this kind of thing isn’t the first time.”
Yu Feichen didn’t want to know what he looked like through the guide’s eyes. He only hoped the guide wouldn’t turn this into another gossip item, though that was probably just wishful thinking.
Bai Song kept talking as Yu Feichen walked to his tree house door.
He stood there, for a long time.
Seeing him not move, Bai Song couldn’t help urging: “Yu-ge, open the door.”
But Yu-ge seemed not to have heard the urging at all, only staring at the door handle, which was vines tangled haphazardly, as if it were an outstanding abstract painting.
He thought Yu Feichen must have been busy with something critically important these days, otherwise why would he still be distracted now? The guide had said his Yu-ge was undefeated, entering the Door of Eternal Night in just one epoch. All of paradise knew. Perhaps the Tower of Genesis would soon have a new deity.
Yu Feichen was indeed distracted, but for reasons completely unrelated to Bai Song’s speculation.
These days he’d spent on the thirteenth floor, immersed in texts and world construction. Occasionally remembering that deity in the Temple of Twilight, his heart had become very calm.
Yet just now, the moment before opening the door, he’d hesitated.
As if what awaited him in this tree house wasn’t a “beautiful guy” but a man-eating demon, and he wasn’t about to open a vine door but Pandora’s box.
Clear emotions appeared on him rarely, and the recent times had all been related to the person inside the door.
Yu Feichen: “You go back.”
Bai Song’s eyes remained glued to the door handle, reluctantly retreating.
Yu Feichen stood in place. He recalled his room’s layout, imagined that supreme deity standing composedly by the window, placed his fingers on the vine handle, and opened the door.
Yet the room lacked the scene he’d imagined. In fact, looking around, there was no one visible.
Only on second look did he see the bed was unmade, something lying on it, breathing evenly, not moving—asleep. Recalling this person’s various performances in dungeons, Yu Feichen found their sleeping quite reasonable.
He approached.
Bai Song’s “beautiful guy” today wore not the ceremonial robes and crown from the ritual, only simple white long robes. He slept there, pale golden long hair scattered on the pillow, his expression at peace. A youth appearing twenty-three or twenty-four years old, with slender fingers gently clasped—looking extraordinarily elegant and harmless.
Claros said that outside, they called your supreme deity “the Deity of Eternal Day,” “the One in Eternal Day,” or simply with tacit understanding “that One.” Though besides “Eternal Day,” It frequently appeared with another word—“Eternal.”
In the boundless eternal night, anyone who grasped the key and possessed their own world could call themselves a deity. When their domain expanded sufficiently, having subjects to command, they would also be respectfully called divine. All so-called “deities” knew perfectly well—none lacked the experience of clawing their way up from mortality.
Yet It was different.
Claros said that when he was an ignorant youth first discovering the eternal night, he’d already heard of an inextinguishable deity in that brilliant Eternal Day.
And those gods with far longer lifespans, born in distant epochs, also said that “the One” had existed since they first had memory.
Everyone had a past before becoming deity—except It. All vast territories were gradually assembled from fragments, large or small, yet all people remembered a sun.
Was it because so much time had passed that all who knew Its origin had died? Or was It truly the only deity in name and reality in this long night?
So-called—omniscient, omnipotent, immortal, eternally present deity.
Yu Feichen gazed down at the person sleeping peacefully on his bed.
In this state, who would believe you’re that undefeated supreme god? he thought.
Yet what should a truly immortal, indestructible deity look like?
He thought for a very long time, ultimately arriving only at blankness.
Yet human emotions are indeed capricious. Facing It, his emotions had settled like dust. The laws constructing worlds were profound and complex, but like one of millions of puzzle pieces finally in the right position, the distance between him and the deity became vast yet knowable.
At this moment, words Claros had once spoken echoed ghostlike in his ears.
“I know what you want to do. But everyone who leaves eventually returns. All those outside Eternal Day desperately want entry. Humanity’s deepest sin is aspiring to become deity.”
He kept thinking of this line until the deity truly lying in bed opened its eyes. In those golden pupils was indeed a faint jade-green undertone, like dawn light falling on still lake water.
Yu Feichen offered an emotionless greeting: “Good afternoon.”
“…Good afternoon,” the deity rose from Yu Feichen’s bed, glanced out the window, then back at him: “I intruded without warning. Are you well?”
Yu Feichen looked around at the slightly rearranged surroundings, thinking that You’ve settled quite comfortably in someone else’s room—certainly rather intrusive. Though Bai Song had facilitated this, meaning both had a hand in it.
“I’m fine,” Yu Feichen didn’t say where he’d been, asking instead: “Why have you come?”
The supreme deity seemed to consider its words.
“That day you left suddenly, and I thought perhaps there was some misunderstanding,” It said. “Besides, I promised to come after Resurrection Day.”
The bedside was certainly not an appropriate place for conversation. Fortunately, this tree house had simple structure and limited space—a few steps led to the terrace.
Yu Feichen wrapped his arms around himself, leaning against the railing, saying: “If I hadn’t gone to the Temple of Twilight, would you have come like this, pretending to be an ordinary person?”
The supreme deity didn’t answer immediately.
Just as It didn’t know how Yu Feichen could precisely recognize It in the dungeons, It also didn’t understand how Yu Feichen was certain of Its identity as the supreme deity. The only possible reason was that Yu Feichen had witnessed It and Murphy together that day.
It said calmly: “If you hadn’t pretended everything was normal that morning, I wouldn’t have deliberately concealed myself either.”
This reversal was such a turn that Yu Feichen had to concede some ground.
“Wouldn’t deliberately conceal?” Yu Feichen smiled slightly. “Murphy is your believer, paradise is under your control. If I’d questioned your identity then, wouldn’t you have claimed to be merely an old acquaintance of Murphy’s?”
The sarcasm bordered on aggressive, and the meaning behind the words made the deity slightly furrow Its brow.
In Yu Feichen’s eyes, the deity didn’t defend itself, proving he’d guessed correctly. Yet Its furrowed brow appeared extraordinarily fragile, as if unable to bear even one harsh word.
The past was settled, nothing more to mention. Yu Feichen said nothing more.
Soft wind carried laughter from the radiant ice stone plaza afar. Tree shadows danced. Everything was peaceful.
Yu Feichen heard the deity speak softly: “…Was it because I deliberately deceived?”
“No,” he said.
The deity looked at him.
Yet Yu Feichen didn’t look back at the deity.
He gazed at the distant sky: “The first time I was complained about was because of you.”
First experiences always left the deepest impressions, especially since his memory was excellent. He remembered every prayer word clearly.
After receiving the name “Feichen,” just a few dungeons later, he felt the pace of accumulating radiant ice stones through mere tasks too slow. Thus he began taking clients.
His first employer was a group of the supreme deity’s fanatic believers, who chanted facing the sun at fixed times—morning, noon, and evening.
“Gratitude for the supreme deity’s mercy.”
“Gratitude that the deity grants us all.”
“I will remember the deity’s grace and love until eternal sleep.”
While they performed their superstitious activities, he simply stood daydreaming. After the first prayer, the captain questioned why he didn’t pray with the team.
He said he didn’t want to pray.
After the second prayer, the vice-captain persuaded him: to ensure the team’s sincerity and purity, hoping he’d pray with them to ensure mission success.
He said: but currently, whether you complete the mission depends on me.
As many times as they prayed, Yu Feichen refused that many times. Upon leaving the dungeon, he received a tear-stained red complaint letter and a summons for tea with Mogoros.
Looking back now, it wasn’t that speaking those few phrases was tremendously difficult. Now he could even afford to mouth along to avoid complaints. Yet youthful rebelliousness made him dislike accepting things forced upon him—from paradise to deity.
“Later, I remained this way.”
The next few sentences came with difficulty.
“Someone brought me to this place saying nothing. I couldn’t believe in this place’s deity without reason, and couldn’t find him. I only wanted… to leave paradise. Because the arrival was unpleasant, I abandoned my original name too, taking another person’s instead.”
“Later when I met you, I thought, even if I don’t believe in the supreme deity, at least you’re here. If I could keep running dungeons afterward, that would also… be good. I could not mind your long absence.”
Yu Feichen took a breath, still gazing into the distance. The evening sunlight dazzled; his eyes felt slightly sore and dry.
“Now suddenly learning you’re the supreme deity,” he said. “I just felt it all absurd. I’ve lost everything. Not because of what you did, but because of myself. You also said you chose my name… do you understand?”
The deity beside him remained silent for a long time.
Yu Feichen hoped this god would be mute. Because from the moment he spoke his first sentence, he knew what he wanted.
Deep intuition revealed a thought utterly self-destructive, nearly desperate—at this moment, only needing this person to say “I’m sorry” would make everything vanish with one stroke.
He hoped It would never speak.
Yet he so intensely wanted to hear those three characters.
He knew It would say them. He’d even anticipated the exact mournful tone, the expression as if truly feeling his pain, befitting all people’s expectations of a compassionate deity.
Yet the deity remained silent.
Yu Feichen turned to look.
In silence heartbreaking enough to shatter, the deity watched him, a new tear slowly falling along un-dried tear tracks. Mist veiled the lake.
As if… for as long as he’d waited for that sentence, so long had Its tears flowed.