Chapter 10 – Island of Saints ω

Forty-eight hours later.

The Listener stood at the base of the refectory steps, about to ascend when someone tugged him from behind. He turned to see The Convert, whose cat-like eyes fixed on him with a gaze so clinging and stubborn that for a moment, he mistook him for him.

“We look before and after, and pine for what is not!” The Convert said urgently. The Listener didn’t understand, and the light in the other’s eyes dimmed as the hand holding his loosened its grip.

He had mistaken him for someone else. The Listener asked softly, “Is that your code phrase?”

The Convert nodded: “Fifteenth time,” he said with a sorrowful expression. “I might never find him again.”

Never again… The Listener’s heart twisted with pain. He clenched his fingers tightly, afraid of recalling the moment he had parted with that person. The Convert suddenly asked, “Can I follow you?”

“Me?” The Listener was taken aback, then shook his head. “Actually… I’m looking for my Convert too.”

The Convert’s eyes widened, gazing at him with longing. “Then… can I follow you for this round?”

The Listener half-turned, as if ready to leave. “Other than him, I don’t need any other Convert. We should each go our own way—”

His sleeve was yanked tightly. The Convert clung to him like a lifeline: “I can’t stand being alone anymore. Please… take me with you!”

Monks passed by continuously, casting curious glances their way. The Listener patted the hand gripping him and reluctantly agreed.

After Morning Prayer, he took The Convert down to the Saints’ Tombs. It was clearly The Convert’s first time there, and he stuck close, growing increasingly astonished as they ventured deeper. “My God, are we even playing the same game?”

The Listener chuckled. “You haven’t gotten this far?”

The Convert scratched his head sheepishly. “We…” Even though it was just the two of them, he lowered his voice, “We just played with each other, you know? Looking back now, we didn’t accomplish anything serious.”

“Really?” The Listener stopped, eyeing him with envy. “You two were… in love the whole time?”

In the flickering torchlight, his face was tender and affectionate. The Convert stared back, and for a fleeting moment, both saw the person in their heart reflected in the other’s eyes. The Listener turned away first, smiling bitterly. “I regret not treating him better…”

“Let’s be together,” The Convert blurted out. The Listener frowned as the other repeated, “Since we can’t find them anyway, why not be with each other?”

“We look before and after, and pine for what is not,” The Listener said coolly. “Shelley, 1817.” He raised the torch and turned back. “How can you just throw away a bond like that?”

The Convert looked at him blankly. “What Shelley? I don’t know. He just used to say that phrase a lot.” He tried to persuade him with a roguish tone, “What’s the difference? You like long, curly hair—I have that. You like gold rings—I have those too. Try me, and you’ll see. It’s the same in bed.”

“Stop,” The Listener’s face turned cold. “What happened between him and me—the struggles, the blood—can’t be summed up with a flippant ‘let’s sleep together.'”

No matter what The Convert said after that, The Listener remained silent. The two passed through the narrow path behind the wooden door in silence, entering the round stone chamber. The process was the same—feeding Silver a few bites, then copying the key. The Convert crouched down to examine it. Under the torchlight, the engraved marks glowed red. “Who carved this?”

“It’s not carved,” The Listener pressed his hand against it, and it sizzled, burning. “It’s system-generated.”

“No,” The Convert pointed to the gradually cooling edges. “These parts are too rough. The code wouldn’t render such fine details. Someone must’ve done this by hand.”

The Listener ignored him because he knew—that was impossible.

Next, they forged the key. Early the next morning, they left the Island of Saints. Once the carriage passed through the eastern gate, The Listener stopped in a concealed hollow and told The Convert to get out. “Head east,” he tossed him a few gold coins. “This is enough to get you settled in the Center of the World.”

The Convert didn’t move. “I want to stay with you.”

The Listener stepped down from the carriage and faced him. “I’m going north.”

“North…” The Convert gaped at him as if he were insane. “Do you never check the control panel when you log in? There’s only east and west here—no north!”

“I know,” The Listener nudged a pebble with his foot. “I want to see what the ‘nonexistent’ place looks like.”

The Convert fell silent. After a long pause, as if making a monumental decision, he said, “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

The Listener rolled his eyes. “I don’t want you,” he impatiently knocked on the carriage. “Get off. Go!”

The Convert grinned. “I’m not leaving. What are you gonna do about it?” His defiant look held a shadow of that person’s expression, and The Listener, dazed, pulled him into an embrace.

The Convert seemed pleasantly surprised, hesitating before hugging him back. “See? Why cling to one tree when you can—”

Suddenly, something tightened around his neck. He tried to pull at it, but his torso was pinned in the embrace. He couldn’t reach his knife either. His Adam’s apple was being crushed. He struggled futilely, clawing wildly at The Listener’s back before his arms gradually went limp and dropped.

The Listener let go, a thin waist rope in his hand—a trick he’d learned from The Convert. He tied it back around his waist and watched as the man in his arms slid down, collapsing softly onto the carriage floor.

Now, he was him—no longer someone else. The Listener sat beside “him,” meticulously tracing every detail, stroking his hair, leaning down to brush his lips against the still-warm mouth.

Just then, rustling came from beneath the tarpaulin. A hand reached out. The Listener released The Convert and reached for it. The person shivered violently but, unusually, didn’t immediately emerge.

Sensing something wrong, The Listener lifted the tarpaulin and pulled him out by the armpits. “What’s wrong?”

Silver seemed deeply frightened, trembling all over. At first, The Listener thought he was afraid of the corpse, but no—the moment he realized who was holding him, Silver immediately burrowed into his arms as if seeking refuge.

“Don’t be scared. Easy,” The Listener gently pinched his earlobe and stroked his back. “What happened?”

Silver, of course, didn’t answer. It was strange—he had been locked in the cage, then brought onto the carriage without encountering anyone or anything. How could he be so terrified?

“Cold? Hungry?” The Listener rocked him gently like a child, trying to soothe him. “We’re heading north—somewhere no one’s been before.”

He recalled the last time Silver’s body had burst into flames—just an unresolved climax, yet it had turned him to ashes from the inside out. What exactly is he?

Holding Silver close the entire way, The Listener drove the carriage north. Within less than a day, the differences became apparent. The “north” was indeed “nonexistent,” just as the manual stated.

The entire environment—sky, clouds, trees—was crudely modeled. Sunlight was simulated with a few warm yellow lines. Plucking a leaf from the geometrically shaped bushes yielded a rough diamond shape. Even the streams produced indistinct, blurred textures, impossible to distinguish clearly—because the “north” was unfinished.

This incompleteness instilled fear in any “consciousness” that entered it. The Listener was no exception. Tossing the leaf aside, he instinctively wanted to turn back, but reason told him that returning would only mean retracing the same path.

Silver was still trembling. The Listener parked the carriage on what appeared to be a hill. Here, the data flow was so rudimentary it bordered on chaotic. The carriage, the horses, even he and Silver flickered like pixels in this setting, their edges blurring as if they might vanish at any moment.

“Are you cold?” The Listener reached out with his flickering hand to feel Silver’s forehead, then removed his monk’s robe to drape over him. “Or are you sick?”

Silver gazed at him with watery eyes, looking as though he’d suffered some terrible injustice, whimpering softly.

Relenting, The Listener set the robe aside and pulled him close. He could feel the small wings on Silver’s back had already started growing—so fast, quicker each time. And that reckless desire… For an NPC, this was far too unusual. “Here, put the robe on first—”

Silver wrapped his arms around The Listener’s neck and licked him again. The Listener recoiled sharply, his wrinkled brow betraying his disgust. But Silver, taking advantage of his vulnerability, clung stubbornly, demanding affection.

“Let—let go!” The Listener shoved him away violently—the first time he’d ever been rough with him. “I told you, don’t do this!”

Silver tumbled to the ground, looking up at him pitifully. The Listener’s heart softened, and he quickly jumped down to help him up. But the moment he did, Silver was all over him again, refusing to let go.

“The long-haired brother earlier,” The Listener struggled to peel him off, “The Convert…”

Oddly, the moment Silver heard the name, he turned away as if unwilling to listen. The gritted teeth, the expression—was that… hatred?

The Listener was stunned. He’d never seen Silver react so strongly to anything. “He and I… we…” He didn’t know how to explain, gently tilting Silver’s face up. “He was good to you. Don’t you remember? Once, when we were in danger, he carried you to me—”

Silver suddenly jerked his face away, lowering his head like a sulking child. The Listener assumed he was just jealous and smiled, lifting his chin—only to find those eyes glaring fiercely, pupils constricted, lips pressed tight. It was unmistakable hatred.

“What…” He was baffled. Then Silver’s hair seemed to stand on end, floating—no, not just floating. It was growing at an unnaturally rapid pace. At the same time, his robe billowed outward. The Listener knew—those were wings.

“Good boy… my Silver, good boy…” He soothed him, slowly pulling him into an embrace. Silver would never resist him. Sure enough, he let himself be held, resting his head obediently on The Listener’s shoulder.

The Listener slipped a hand under his clothes, stroking his waist and ribs. Silver seemed to like it, nuzzling his collarbone with closed eyes, legs wrapping around his waist, his little backside pressing between The Listener’s thighs.

This blatant provocation made The Listener wonder—did Silver have feelings for him? Could an NPC programmed into the game develop affection for a player?

He tilted his head awkwardly. “Silver, I’m just checking your back…” Mid-sentence, the guy in his arms suddenly latched onto his neck with his mouth and tongue. The occasional graze of tiny fangs against his skin made The Listener shiver. Slowly, he moved his hand upward, brushing past a nipple, aiming for the armpit to reach the back—when Silver let out a sharp cry.

His entire body trembled. In an instant, the tattered robe split open from behind.

The Listener froze, staring at the strange white expanse above him—layer upon layer of clearly defined feathers, their pixelated edges flickering faintly. The wings were enormous, vivid, powerful, sweeping leaves from the treetops, which fluttered down onto The Listener’s lashes. “You… really are…”

An Angel! The massive wings curled and unfurled, stirring cool breezes that draped over them like curtains. Those pale eyes, those silver strands of hair—The Listener was nearly lost in them when a leaf fluttered past his vision. He caught it—it had veins, even serrated edges. It was perfectly detailed.

This wasn’t right! He shoved Silver away and looked up. Beside the “unfinished” tree they stood under was a flawless oak. He rushed over, parting the waist-high grass—also perfect. Some blades were trampled, and following the trail, he saw a carriage. Beneath it were two figures—one with grand white wings spread wide, the other… His breath caught. Himself!

Abruptly, that “Silver” turned, fixing him with watery eyes. The Listener was rooted in place, unable to move. Another instance? How could an NPC in that instance see him—a player from a different instance?

A thought struck him. He turned and ran back. Beside his carriage, Silver sat with wings spread, head tilted, poised to rise. Just like that, he froze in place, eyes devoid of light, the flickering pixels along his edges fading in and out.