Sacrifice

The body in her arms had been drained of every last bit of strength. Its solid weight pressed against her shoulder, yet it was strangely light, like a dead branch with all its moisture gone dry.

Her delicate features, her carefully edited genes, her top-tier intelligence—none of it had given her anything like human charm. In death, she would be like experimental equipment casually discarded, exuding a cold, lifeless air, leaving behind a shell that seemed never to have been touched by a soul.

The light in those eyes had already faded; the lids were half-lowered, like a machine that had run out of power and slipped into standby mode. The gaunt body revealed the hard lines of bone, and held in her arms, it made the emptiness feel even colder.

Nan Changgeng looked down at her. She did not move for a long time, as if every joint in her body had frozen solid.

At some point, the heavy clouds overhead had already dispersed. Noon sunlight poured in through the window and climbed over her back in a warm golden wash. In front of her, everything was cold; the body in her arms was still warm, yet it seemed to be drawing heat from her own body, a dull, frigid force seeping into flesh and bone.

In light and shadow alike, she knelt at the boundary between them.

Her stiff fingers lifted, very slowly, to wipe away the blood on the girl’s face that was just about to dry.

“I’m not some kind of god...”

Nan Changgeng could no longer shed tears. Her voice was hoarse and clogged.

She felt like a mountain, while she herself was only sitting before a blade of grass, accidentally blocking its sunlight and casting it in the foothills’ shadow. It longed for light, so it looked toward the mountain, thinking the scattered sunlight behind her came from the mountain itself.

A slight tremor in the mountain, a few stones rolling down, and for the grass, that was already close to destruction.

Even after it withered and rotted from lack of sunlight, it would still regard the light that had slipped around her and scattered across the world as a gift she had given.

But why, in Yu Mao’s world, was she as immense as a mountain in the eyes of a blade of grass? She couldn’t understand.

Living must have been terribly painful, terribly exhausting.

Nan Changgeng gazed at the girl’s peaceful face. In the haze of her muddled thoughts, she faintly thought that perhaps this ending was not necessarily a bad thing for her.

Her instinct for self-preservation had been trained so powerfully that, at once, she had started trying to comfort herself and pull away from her emotions, so she wouldn’t have to face the pain of loss head-on.

All the complicated emotions quickly contracted inward, shrinking back beneath the ice of reason. She even began to wonder whether she had known Yu Mao long enough to be made to bear such a heavy price.

Then, in the next instant, her fingertips brushed the blood beneath her nose and felt a warm breath.

“!”

Nan Changgeng jolted out of the numb despair that had wrapped around her. Every cell in her body surged awake at once; the pounding of her heart made her ears ring.

Alive... still alive!

The frozen emotions thawed and rushed back like a spring; trembling all over again, she forced back a choking sob. Her sluggish thoughts finally cleared, and she suddenly remembered how she had woken her up last time, according to the records.

Laying the girl flat on the floor from her arms, Nan Changgeng took a deep breath, stood up, and turned toward the cello in the corner. Without hesitation, she walked over, gripped the neck of the instrument, and took up the bow.

The familiar feel made her pause for a moment.

With no time to think it through, she hooked a foot around the small stool beside her and sat down. Lowering her head, she set the bow to the strings; the strangeness gradually washed away as the first strains of music began to flow.

The cello’s wooden body caught the noon sunlight with a soft sheen. Bow and strings rubbed gently together; a deep tone slowly poured out, and countless days and nights from the past, when she had lived with the instrument deep in her memory, awakened at this moment.

The dried mud that had once crusted on her wrist, the past that had kept her from playing again—before life and death, it was as fragile as a spiderweb.

Wake up... if I am truly a god to you, then listen clearly; I am calling you.

The soothing music moved and flowed through the room. Invisible ripples surrounded the girl on the floor beneath Nan Changgeng’s unknowing gaze, washing through her body.

Vibration, pulling, calling...

Yu Mao’s lowered lashes trembled softly. Her eyelids lifted; like a machine restarting after being shut down, the empty pupils slowly gathered light again, revealing clear confusion.

She had thought that this time, her consciousness would vanish completely into nothingness.

But this time, it seemed she had not lost anything yet.

Looking up at the familiar ceiling, at the light that had not changed much... Was it because not enough time had passed?

The music flowing into her ears made her feel steady, as if she were submerged in the warmest water.

Yu Mao lay on the hard floor and turned her head. She saw the woman sitting upright high above her, draped in that golden light; her hair reflected a faint rainbow halo. Her lowered eyes were focused and profound, her slender fingers moving the bow with light, deft precision over the strings. The white wool sweater seemed to breathe with the sunlight, tracing every rise and fall—bright, sacred, translucent.

Her breathing grew lighter and lighter until it finally stopped altogether; even blinking ceased, afraid that the scene before her might vanish like a mirage in a breath of wind.

That white, fused with light, looked blurred and fragile, like white paper soaked in water.

She waited for the woman to lift her eyes. Their gazes met.

Gray-blue pupils were steeped in moisture, like a handful of melting ice shards; in an instant, deeper ripples spread.

The cello stopped abruptly.

“You can play again... that’s great.

“Changgeng...

“Have you reached eternity?”

She looked at her, her faint voice scattering like mist.

Nan Changgeng’s fingers tightened around the cello neck for an instant, then let go before the strings could cut into her skin. A sour ache surged from her throat up into her nose; she barely held back her tears.

Suppressing the violent emotion that had nearly shattered her composure, she swallowed hard and shook her head.

“No.”

She set the instrument down and stood, walking toward her under Yu Mao’s bewildered gaze. Nan Changgeng came to her side and crouched down, like a human looking down at a frail animal, her eyes full of pity.

Pressing both hands hard against her knees to keep her fingertips from trembling, the curled crouch concealed the weakness in her body after surviving disaster. Her hoarse voice sounded like a verdict:

“You don’t love me; how can you even talk about eternity?”

Yu Mao’s eyes trembled clearly for a moment, then filled with confusion.

Before she could ask a question, Nan Changgeng kindly gave her the answer. In those gray-blue eyes was an even deeper pity, her tone astonishingly calm:

“You see yourself as a sacrifice, a consumable provided to me; you don’t even have humanity. Talking about love itself is a false proposition.”

She wasn’t deliberately trying to provoke her; she genuinely believed it.

After speaking with Lin Yan, she had started to feel this way.

And after discovering that Yu Mao’s understanding of eternity was as different from hers as day from night, that feeling became even clearer.

Yu Mao asked nothing for herself. She only wanted to grind herself to dust and squeeze herself dry as nourishment for her; she had no self, no humanity, and even the emotions she received were “transmitted” to her by Nan Changgeng alone.

Could such a person’s feelings be called love? More than that, could she even be called human?

After emotions rose and fell to the extreme, they cooled rapidly instead. Nan Changgeng’s mind became completely clear. She did not wait for Yu Mao to work herself toward an answer in confusion and self-doubt; instead, she asked:

“Where did you get that cello?”

It had once been one of her most treasured instruments, but after she could no longer play, she had gradually sold off all her cellos, trying to cut her past away completely.

Yet even after so many years, the moment she took it in hand, she still recognized it as hers.

Yu Mao’s lips moved; her gaze went unfocused for a moment. “It was... bought from the music shop where you sold your instruments.”

“I’m sorry. I... I didn’t want to treat you like that. Secretly monitoring you through the internet was a very excessive thing to do; I know that, but I needed you too much...”

Just a simple question, and it made her pour out the secret wrongdoing buried in her heart. She simply had no right to hide anything.

Nan Changgeng cut her off. “What did you do?”

Yu Mao paused for a beat. “I looked up your information, found out where you were, stole your phone’s microphone permissions, and listened to the sounds on your end.”

“Just that?” Nan Changgeng’s tone remained calm, almost as if she had expected more. “Why did you have to do it this way?”

“I needed to feel your existence, or else I would die.” As she said it, Yu Mao actually sounded bewildered.

Was she afraid of death? Why would her instincts drive her to do things that hurt Changgeng...

Was it really as Changgeng had said—that she had no humanity and no self, and in truth did not love her at all...?

Looking at her confused expression, Nan Changgeng suddenly curved her lips into a smile, closed her eyes, and lifted a hand to cover them, forcing back her tears.

Good.

At least Yu Mao still had the most basic instinctive desire for life that belonged to a human being.

Compared with that, having been monitored and eavesdropped on by Yu Mao suddenly seemed trivial.

In fact, as early as when she saw those records, she had already been somewhat prepared. Her anger at being violated had not even had time to form before it was drowned by all kinds of bigger, more complicated emotions. What remained now was only relief.

“I have a new need for you; I don’t need any eternity anymore.” Supporting the girl’s shoulders, she helped her up and made her meet her eyes. With a serious expression, she said, “I want you to love me, to truly love me, until the day I die.”

Yu Mao’s body was weak; with one hand on the floor, the cold touch had never been so clear as it was at this moment.

“Love...”

She murmured in confusion, as if she had finally sensed the outline of what was missing inside herself. What followed was the immense void that opened up in her heart. Then, in an instant, a fierce longing ignited.

Those eyes brightened, like a patch of red-hot charcoal revealed after the ashes of burned remains had been brushed away; though still weakening under the burial, they flared again the instant they met oxygen.

“I want to love you, Changgeng. I want to love you...”

She instinctively reached out, stiffly and tightly gripping the woman’s arm. Her tears seemed to be heated to boiling by some kind of energy, and without warning they welled up all at once, falling one after another in a steady stream. Through the blur, she could make out the woman’s eyes, soft and deep like the sea.

“I want to love you...” Her voice grew softer and hoarser, until only a breath of sound remained, as if her throat had already been caught by that surging love.

Nan Changgeng pulled her into her arms and gently patted her back. Her throat ached sourly, so she pressed her lips together and said nothing, letting the tears fill her eyes out of the girl’s line of sight.

Yu Mao’s body trembled under the strain. Her hands hovered stiffly in the air, then slowly settled around Nan Changgeng’s waist; such vast sensation, so precious... intimacy.

More tears fell, drop by drop, soaking the woman’s white wool sweater. Her gaze drifted into the void; something in her chest was breaking apart, while something new was beginning to grow in the empty space, nourished by the longing of desire.

Like a tender sprout struggling to push up its sharp tip beneath ruins.

“Changgeng...”

“Changgeng...”

She kept whispering the name, holding it in her mouth, trying to dissolve and break it apart so she could identify the components of love.

Something utterly pure and sharp pierced through her mouth; it was hot, like a searing flame, and also like concentrated sugar so sweet it had turned bitter.

Every place that touched the woman was enduring the roasting heat. She felt as if she were melting like a snowman, her body pierced through by an overabundance of light. But she did not want to let go.

Her nose tingled. She lifted a hand to cover the blood that was about to spill out again, while tears slid down her cheeks into the corners of her mouth.

“Please tell me... what should I do...”

Nan Changgeng casually wiped away the tears on her face, swallowed hard, and forcibly gathered her emotions back into order. She let go first, stood, and went to help her up.

Yu Mao’s control over her body was still somewhat strained. The moment she stood, she swayed slightly; Nan Changgeng caught her at once and helped her over to the bed to sit down.

“Wait here.”

Nan Changgeng went to the bedside table and took several tissues, then leaned down to wipe away the tears from her face and the little bit of blood that had started to seep from under her nose again.

The obedient, miserable child looked at her with tear-bright cat eyes.

She couldn’t help lifting a hand to lightly tousle her messy hair, comforting her. “Trust me. I’ll help you find yourself.”

The girl had indeed been awakened by her cello music. Having personally witnessed the miracle heaven had granted the two of them this time, she was willing to try being, for once... the true god in Yu Mao’s world.