Chapter 91#
Genesis Thirteen#
The deity cries. Yu Feichen knows this.
He once saw Pope Ludwig with his back turned to the Holy Child, and knows that Landenworth’s people often mark teardrop moles beneath their eyes to commemorate the deity’s first tear.
Yet he never imagined It would cry because of him.
Yet the supreme deity simply watched him, and when Yu Feichen looked back, new tears quietly accumulated in Its eyes, clinging to dampened eyelashes.
Not compassionate pity, but rather quietly fragile. Not lofty divine favor, but rather silent, soundless sorrow—as if perceiving a tragedy destined to occur.
—Why?
Yu Feichen found it absurd. He hadn’t expected such a scene, much less that this person’s tears would fall so readily. He’d been caught off guard.
In his imagining, if the supreme deity could apologize, they would be even. But now Its reaction was more intense than his own, gaining the upper hand instead. Should he cry too? Yu Feichen knew he couldn’t do such things.
Thus he spoke harshly: “Stop crying.”
Only after speaking did he recall saying the exact same words “stop crying” to Ludwig when the dungeon ended. Ludwig had replied “no more.”
—Yet tears had fallen again, suggesting back then was merely casual deflection. Looking at that teardrop mole, Yu Feichen felt unnamed agitation, unable to look away elsewhere. He had to do something, preventing It from continuing to cry.
Speaking with the supreme deity consumed more energy than running a dungeon. Yu Feichen chose to sit in the nearby vine-wood high-backed chair. He assumed a relaxed posture, one leg crossed over the other, arms wrapped around himself, appearing as if leisurely observing someone’s tears.
Yu Feichen: “I’m the one displeased. Why are you crying?”
The supreme deity slightly lowered Its eyes, Its gold-green pupils remaining silent within.
“I feel regretful,” It said.
Yu Feichen said: “It’s unnecessary.”
The deity’s believers were innumerable. If It were so emotionally sensitive, It wouldn’t need to be a god—just spending days washing face with tears would suffice.
“It is necessary,” the deity replied calmly. “I remained too long in the Temple of Twilight, accustomed to planning everyone’s life paths according to my will, including yours. Ignoring your complete existence was always my fault.”
Yu Feichen watched It.
Inexplicably, he heard himself ask: “Are you apologizing to every believer?”
The supreme deity: “They are not like you.”
Yu Feichen: “.”
He felt he’d received criticism from the deity. Yet Its answer was countless times more sincere than “I’m sorry,” even making him feel somewhat pleased. Ultimately, he wanted—to just let it be. He wouldn’t harbor resentment anymore, wouldn’t oppose himself.
Yet Yu Feichen hadn’t forgotten what the deity said before. He felt curious: “In that case, what path did you plan for me when you brought me back then?”
Now he sat, looking up at the deity. The distance wasn’t great, and the supreme god watched so intently, making him feel at any moment this person would extend their hand—gently touching his cheek like they did all believers.
The deity didn’t do that, but Its voice was indeed soft and gentle.
“Initially, you would experience trials and growth like everyone in paradise. Should you die accidentally, you would return at the next Resurrection Day, until capable of entering the eternal night. Like now… but this happened too quickly.”
The deity said: “Newly entering the eternal night, danger was inevitable. So I decided to accompany you in secret, without expecting you’d notice. Sometimes, I didn’t know how to treat you. Your suffering because of this is also my fault.”
There was another sentence It chose to leave unsaid—not knowing how to treat you is because your nature exceeded my initial expectations.
And having heard all this, Yu Feichen began viewing the supreme deity differently. Just a few sentences managed to make him feel he should be flattered rather than acting unreasonably now… no, he wasn’t being unreasonable—not from beginning to end.
Yet while reason warned him to be cautious of sugar-coated words, uncontrollable emotions already leaned toward ease and pleasure. He curved his lips slightly, saying: “Then I believe you.”
Faint warmth also appeared in the deity’s eyes.
Yu Feichen: “I entered the Door of Eternal Night. And then?”
The deity didn’t speak. After a moment, asked instead of answering: “What do you want to become?”
Yu Feichen answered decisively: “I don’t know.”
The deity before him seemed unprepared for someone to be so brazenly frank about giving up. It slowly blinked. So innocent, as if this situation weren’t of Its own making, Yu Feichen thought.
The wind outside grew stronger, blowing the deity’s white robes toward him, close enough to touch, making Yu Feichen’s mind waver. He recalled those days waiting alone in the Radiant Ice Stone Plaza when first arriving in paradise.
For him, it was the longest period of his life. But for the Eternal Day deity, merely a blink.
“Claros said,” Yu Feichen spoke softly, tone flat, “humanity’s deepest sin is aspiring to become deity.”
Yet in the wind, the supreme deity shook Its head.
“There are methods to become officials in paradise, paths exist to leave paradise in the eternal night,” It said. “One can hardly call it aspiration, much less sin.”
Yu Feichen watched It long, not pondering the meaning behind Its words, but trying to glimpse the so-called eternally compassionate heart in legend.
He asked: “Then what is true sin?”
Its gentle, calm eyelashes perched full of evening light, as if looking at Yu Feichen, yet simultaneously gazing at the endless void between them.
“There is only one true sin in this world,” It said. “Unwillingness to face one’s own heart.”
This sentence touched Yu Feichen more than Claros’s words.
He watched It and suddenly thought: my first thought upon entering was wrong.
A true deity indeed should be like It.
And that bewildering predicament constraining him was actually quite simple. For someone to live, they must do things. Either pursue something, or protect something… or resist something. It was exactly such a choice he always faced, except the person before him easily stirred unnecessary emotions, causing his vision to teem with illusions, entrapping him within.
He truly had never directly confronted his own heart.
Cheers from the Radiant Ice Stone Plaza broke the brief silence. The supreme deity asked: “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” Yu Feichen said. “I… know what to do now.”
The deity’s tone held slight tentative hope: “You…”
Yu Feichen softened his voice, saying: “I’m fine.”
He didn’t say “not angry anymore,” always feeling that phrasing was odd.
But the deity seemed to understand his meaning, eyes brightening with smile-light, saying: “Should future confusion arise, I hope to answer it for you.”
Future confusion was a matter for the future. He’d spoken things hard to voice today, expecting regret, yet suddenly felt light and bright. Yu Feichen stood.
Through dappled leaves he could see distant sights—a familiar figure, Murphy supporting an easel by the Twilight River, dabbing paint. The painter guided beside him, occasionally taking the brush to revise the painting, the posture intimate.
Withdrawing his gaze, Yu Feichen said: “Want to take a walk?”
They’d said all there was between them. Staying longer would just mean mutual silent daydreaming, though he wasn’t averse, the scene would be somewhat awkward.
“Where do you want to go?” The supreme deity didn’t refuse.
Where to go was the question.
Yu Feichen recalled invitations he’d received. The companion destinations near the Radiant Ice Stone Plaza were basically three types: drinking at taverns on Sunset Street, strolling the Twilight River, shopping on Sunlit Street.
Going to a tavern probably meant similar silence, while the Twilight River happened to have Murphy sketching. He didn’t want to see Murphy, nor did he want to see Murphy’s paintings, which Claros said were ugly.
“Let’s go to Sunlit Street,” he said.
Then thought of something, asking: “Will others recognize you?”
Other officials wandering paradise were one thing; everyone had dealings, viewing them like game NPCs. Yet if the supreme deity appeared, certainly it wouldn’t be like this.
But he saw the deity look toward a nearby mirror, movements somewhat hesitant. The mirror reflected Its image.
“I changed my appearance,” It said slowly. “Didn’t you notice?”
Yu Feichen: “…”
He seemed to have exposed something.
Having been face-blind for years, getting along with others without incident, he’d never thought it would reveal him like this.
Yet he truly didn’t see how this person’s appearance differed from before, even from Anphiel and Ludwig’s, except the coloring changed slightly.
He didn’t expose his shortcomings before the supreme deity, offering instead: “Your… presence feels very special.”
The deity seemed disinclined to dwell on this question, slight smile playing, saying: “Good enough.”
Before leaving, Yu Feichen watched It slightly tidy Its hair before the mirror. After straightening the long hair, delicate vine with leaves spontaneously crept from the table, adorning Its golden locks, then continued spreading, gathering some hair from both sides loosely binding behind, leaving only soft short curls in front.
Yu Feichen watched this scene. The Giant Tree Inn’s rooms indeed had automatic grooming functions, advertised as: “Tree fairy’s peak aesthetics, surpassing painters, Sathernal’s favorite.” He’d lived here years without using it once; this person seemed quite practiced.
This way though, the supreme deity’s temperament became much warmer and closer to mortals—like a person.
When leaving, three heads poked from Bai Song’s window. Bai Song, Chen Tong, and the guide.
Bai Song said longingly: “Yu-ge, won’t you consider bringing me along?”
The guide muttered: “First-hand gossip, the protagonist unexpectedly the ever-single water-resistant Yu-god, I’m rich… won’t you consider bringing me along?”
Chen Tong seemed to have something to say: “This person, how did he… this is inappropriate! Is this paradise’s atmosphere?”
Yu Feichen callously closed the window for them. Of course, he also didn’t open the door.