The Creatures that We Are

“Ah…”

Fresh Snow opened her eyes, drenched in cold sweat.

She was on her bed. It was a dream.

She slowly sat up and went to the vanity mirror, practicing her smile at her reflection.

The smile started out rueful, but slowly, it became natural and bright, like the careless Fresh Snow was back.

Barefooted, she went down the spiral staircase to the living room. In the warmth of the fireplace, Gao Yang was resting on the sofa with his eyes closed, waiting for the signal that might come from the frontline.

He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps. “Can't sleep?”

“Yeah.” Fresh Snow went up to him. “You?”

“I'm not sleepy,” Gao Yang said with a smile.

“Sure.” Gao Yang patted the sofa. “Have a seat.”

Fresh Snow sat. Gao Yang rose to drag a large box of disks from the TV cabinet. “What movie would you like to watch? Or do you want my recommendation?”

“The second disk on the first row,” Fresh Snow said from memory.

Gao Yang picked out the disk. It was Tales of the Journey to the West 2. He paused, remembering a happy memory, his lips curving into a smile.

It felt natural. It was as if they had lived together for a long time, and this was merely one of their many nights when insomnia struck. And the movie they chose to kill their time with had become worn from repeated viewing. They couldn't explain what was good about it.

It was a mundane moment like a breeze, yet profound.

He turned on the television and played the disk before sitting down on the sofa.

Fresh Snow leaned against him gently, paying full attention to the movie.

She had watched it many times after the first viewing with the Nine Scions. Every time, she would laugh and cry, but it always felt different. She could recite from memory all the plot points and even all the lines.

“I have to remind you once more—you will no longer be mortal after putting the tightening spell on.”

“You shall not involve yourself in all mortal desires and emotions, or the headband will constrict more and more and make you suffer.”

The movie approached its end, and the classic lines were spoken.

Fresh Snow followed along, gripping Gao Yang's hand without thinking, her eyes reddening.

After a while, she asked, “Why does my chest always feel tight after watching a movie?”

“Because you're moved?”

“No, and it's not sadness, either, but a bad feeling I can't describe.”

Gao Yang thought about it carefully before answering in a quiet voice, “It may be a hollow feeling, a sense of emptiness.”

Fresh Snow blinked. “Emptiness?”

“That happened to me all the time. After finishing a movie, a book, or a game, I'll feel empty for a while. The story ends. An invested audience will naturally feel that way.” ṛάＮỌꞖĚʂ

“What do I do then?” Fresh Snow asked.

“You return to your life,” Gao Yang shared his answer. “Another's story is theirs no matter how remarkable it is; our life is our only life no matter how mundane.”

Fresh Snow considered his words, her misty eyes resembling lakes shrouded in fog under the moon. She smiled at Gao Yang. “Yeah.”

Then came the most classic scene in the movie. Zhi Zuen Bao held tightly onto the body of Zixia, his tightening spell becoming more and more constricting. The pain was overwhelming, yet he refused to let go.

Fresh Snow suddenly picked up the remote control and turned it off.

It was all very sudden.

Gao Yang was about to ask why. Fresh Snow flashed him a grin. “I'm hungry, Gao Yang.”

…

Outdoor laboratory, Yuan Yang River.

“Chen Ying” opened her eyes from the top of the car. Sensory entered a thirty-minute cooldown.

By the bonfire, “Zhong He” and “Adept Horse” maintained their small talk. Anyone with patience to listen for an hour would discover their conversation consisted merely of recycled combinations of hundreds of preset lines.

“Qing Ling” rose after polishing her blades, entering Dr. Jia's laboratory. Three times daily, she would ask Dr. Jia the same question: Anything you need?

That was in character for her.

If Dr. Jia needed something, “Qing Ling” would relay it to Nine Frost. Then Nine Frost would make the arrangements, maintaining their perfect deception.

“Chen Ying” had jumped off the car, settling onto a foldable stool by the bonfire. Warming herself, she spoke her programmed lines and joined “Zhong He” and “Adept Horse's” conversation.

“You two should pay more attention.”

“What do we have to fear with your Sensory, Sister Ying?”

“Sensory can't do everything.”

“The Ocean River Union isn't coming. Qilin's at his limit. He would sooner hide away from us.”

“Dr. Jia's research is important. Nothing must go wrong.”

“Ha, the madman trying to open up the Mist...”

“Quiet!”

“Don't worry. They can't hear without Keen Hearing.”

As they chatted, a portal the size of a basketball materialized two hundred meters behind “Chen Ying.” A dart whooshed out, targeting her back.

The moment the dart closed in, Harvest Song emerged with a triangular blade, driving it toward “Chen Ying's” spine.

She didn't react at all.

Harvest Song faltered. She had meant to incapacitate Chen Ying, not kill her.

The ease of the kill startled her—until realization struck. A substitute! This is a trap!

She moved to alert her teammates, but it was too late.

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