Famine 148: Rebirth

Si Zhiyan was just about to retreat when he suddenly slammed on the brakes, forcing himself to halt in place.

The minehounds would not go mad without reason; surely, he had triggered some kind of threat to them.

…But what was it?

The instant the thought occurred to him, Si Zhiyan was struck by a sudden realization:

It was the act of withdrawal!

He had just been lost in his own reflections, had just finished petting the minehound, and was about to stand up and make a trip back to the farm.

It was this subtle gesture, this “pulling his hand back, leaving this place,” that triggered the minehounds’ PTSD.

[Wuuuruu…]

Bearing their teeth, the minehounds advanced on Si Zhiyan step by step, drawing ever closer. It seemed they were struggling, as if wanting to retreat, but the writhing tendrils, like wireworms, pulled at their limbs with a parasitic force and dragged them inexorably forward.

Si Zhiyan found himself at an impasse—whether to fight or retreat, either choice seemed fraught.

He could start a battle, he could call for Nidhoog, or even dissipate his avatar and regroup elsewhere… In any case, it would mean initiating a battle with the goal of [purging].

All he saw before him were vicious, hollow eyes, a pack of dogs filling the entire square.

Cold sweat slid from Si Zhiyan’s brow as he pressed his lips together.
…If even he was in such danger, how much worse would it be for the other players at the farm?

He was the only one here.

He had to decide, right now.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Si Zhiyan raised his hand, gathering power in the [Ring of Sacred Flame], targeting the nearest minehound—the very one that had just been licking him.
His fingertips trembled ever so slightly.

[Wuuurururuu!!!]

The tendrils surged, and that minehound, after a last violent struggle, suddenly leapt at him!

Si Zhiyan’s lashes fluttered as he clenched the vine at his throat; his long fingers steadied, aiming at the shadow’s head.

Suddenly, the air beside him shimmered with a light ripple.

—

Out of the corner of his eye, Si Zhiyan caught a beam of light.

It was weak, flickering, but in the utter blackness of the Abyss, it stood out unmistakably, radiating a gentle warmth.

Buzz!

In the blink of an eye, it spread forth, and a hazy barrier of light rose between Si Zhiyan and the shadows, instantly halting both sides. In a split-second, the fierce afterglow of sacred fire rippled; the minehound collided, crashing into the shield, but it was as if it struck some soft curtain—left entirely unharmed.

—

The vine at his throat did not vanish; instead, a warm hand landed against Si Zhiyan’s neck, fingers resting gently at his nape, tightening just enough to resemble a vine held in his own grip.

He felt soft, living warmth through their intertwined fingertips.

A strand of golden hair brushed Si Zhiyan’s cheek. At his ear, a gentle, resonant voice asked:

“Do you still wish to harm it?”

The warm breath ghosted past Si Zhiyan’s ear.

It was Bian Xu.

Strange, rough fingertips pressed atop his Adam’s apple, making Si Zhiyan tremble uncontrollably.

The familiar closeness and restriction of the vine were now replaced by the heat of another body, unbearably… near.

In that instant, countless suppressed thoughts flashed through Si Zhiyan’s mind.

Why have you suddenly appeared?
Will you vanish again as abruptly as before?
I don’t know. I truly don’t know.
There are things I must do, but at times I wish to do nothing at all.
I am tired.
I don’t want to see any more tragic deaths.
Not just this one—I don’t wish to hurt anyone.
I am a little lonely.

…

But in the end, Si Zhiyan said nothing. His lashes quivered, he closed his eyes, and in that moment, he yielded to a single act of restraint.

“…No.”

“All right,” Bian Xu rested his chin on Si Zhiyan’s shoulder, nodding gently, “I understand.”

“You must be very tired, coming all this way.”

Bian Xu drew back, stretching his body, stepping ahead. Only then did Si Zhiyan notice that Bian Xu was still somewhat translucent, pallid as if he could dissolve at any moment. Yet his steps were light, his golden hair shimmered dazzlingly, tossing carefree as though washed by sunlight.

The barrier of light faded away.

[Wuuuruu… Woof!!]
[Gu… hurr… gurururu!!]

The pack was freed in a flash; a carpet of black shadows blanketed his vision, as if the stage curtain itself had fallen, tendrils whipping upward, flying from every direction.

Bian Xu stood firm before the darkness, golden hair dazzling, his smile inviting as he half-turned to Si Zhiyan:

“Leave this to me.”

His smile was so radiant, tinged with a secret joy and shyness. For a moment, Si Zhiyan was struck by the illusion that this was not the apocalypse’s depths, but a summer afternoon path on a college campus, where a clean, white-T-shirted student turned back from his bicycle, bright eyes greeting someone important.

Boom!!

The next instant, something monstrous crashed from Bian Xu’s body—grotesque, writhing black flesh.

The farm core.

In the blink of an eye, it surged forth, engulfing the mass of black hounds—swallowing both the canine tide and Bian Xu’s own form.

Glurp! Grrlup!

That chilling black flesh began to writhe and pulse, and below the darkness, one could faintly see the desperate silhouettes of the tendril-bearing dogs, struggling within.

Si Zhiyan instantly recognized this—the same convulsing, swallowing mass that had consumed Qi Zhi and Wang Jinyu in the past.

No matter how they struggled, raised the flesh, writhed and contorted, it was all in vain.

…

Si Zhiyan could not say what he felt. He sat in silence for a time, settling himself on the grass to watch it all, and wondered:

What had made him into what he was now?

Such aimless pondering was destined to yield no answer. Si Zhiyan could only stare at the monstrous, writhing mass of flesh before him.

Until, slowly, it split open.

Pop.

A soft sound.

The very first shadow that had rushed into the flesh was spat out through a jagged tear.

It rolled twice, sitting upright on the ground.

…But it was no longer a shadow.

It was a dog—a little dog covered in short, pale orange fur, its coat tinged with gold beneath the molten light. Its legs were short and stout, furry all over; it gave its little head a shake, turning up two bright black-bean eyes and a damp, shiny nose.

“Woof!”

The puppy barked.

Si Zhiyan was momentarily lost for words.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

Behind it, countless furry minehounds were spat out from the flesh mass.

And when the last minehound had emerged, the pulsing mound at last slowly shrank, twisted, and shifted—turning back into Bian Xu.

Bian Xu knelt on the grass, surrounded by a swarm of furry, jubilant puppies. He seemed utterly soaked, bracing himself on the ground and panting for breath.

Si Zhiyan approached, and Bian Xu looked up, his face candid and handsome, though one of his eyes glimmered blood-red, and a streak of black, vein-like vessels still traced across his skin—a terrible sight. He smiled and called out, “Sir.”

Si Zhiyan replied, “Mmm.”

Si Zhiyan sat down before him, reaching out to touch the twisted black lines on Bian Xu’s face. Bian Xu laughed and drew back a little. “…That tickles.”

All around them now was the noisy din of countless furry dogs, jostling and romping, all playing together in riotous chaos.

The very first minehound, the one that had followed Si Zhiyan, happily trotted forward on its short legs like a furry little cannonball and leapt into Bian Xu’s arms.

“Ah!”

Caught off-guard, Bian Xu toppled backward, the puppy sprawling atop him, licking his face all over, smearing him with slobber. Bian Xu laughed, not at all upset, and ruffled the dog’s cheeks before slipping his hands beneath its armpits and lifting it up to pass to Si Zhiyan.

Darkness filled the sky above—a bottomless abyss—the only light those of the hostel Si Zhiyan himself had built. In the grass, the golden-haired youth seemed themselves to glow as he lifted the fluffy puppy to his chest, bright eyes fixed on Si Zhiyan.

“Sir, it likes you. Will you give it a name?”

“Woof woof!” The puppy barked, licking Si Zhiyan on the palm.
These two—when they smiled, their faces were exactly the same.

Kneeling beside them, Si Zhiyan looked at them both, and said softly, “Sol.”

“Eh? Soul?” Bian Xu rested his chin on Sol’s furry head, blinking. “All right!”

Sol—the English root, from the Latin “sol,” meaning… the sun.
In that old era where this primal language was formed, people believed the sun was the center of the universe, a holy, unique being. This origin also gave the Latin “solus.”

You are the only one, the irreplaceable, unique light.

Si Zhiyan did not elaborate or correct Bian Xu. He simply smiled and caressed Sol’s head.

Sol sprawled between them, licking at Bian Xu, then at Si Zhiyan, clearly delighted.
…Then, it opened its mouth, and from within some squelching, wriggling, stretched out a tendril.

The two men were both stunned. Bian Xu instantly leapt in front of Si Zhiyan: “Don’t—”

…But just then, the tendril spiraled out from Sol’s mouth with a whirring spin.
The puppy soared upward.

Si Zhiyan, chosen by the dog, felt himself lift gently into the air as well.

Sol barked cheerfully, flying circles around Si Zhiyan. At the same moment, minehounds nearby began to float one by one. They looked overjoyed.

“…Huh?!” Bian Xu’s eyes went wide. “…What kind of… new species is this?”

“So it would seem,” Si Zhiyan said.

Si Zhiyan reached up and pulled Sol down, holding the warm, fluffy, slightly heavy dog in his arms and letting himself sink back to the ground, settling down next to Bian Xu. Sol wriggled and licked him with joy, burying its big head in Si Zhiyan’s chest.

“After all they’ve been through, at last they’re back as they once were. Perhaps this transformation, dissolving their curses and grievances, coexisting with the tendrils as a new life-form, isn’t such a bad thing after all.”

After a pause, Si Zhiyan lifted his slender hand, gently brushing Bian Xu’s golden hair—just a fleeting touch.

“Thank you,” he said, gaze warm. “I only managed all this because of you.”

Bian Xu stared at him, his cheeks instantly flushing bright red. After a long pause he hung his head in confusion:

“…N-n-no, you… Sir, you never need to say that to me…”

He covered his face, though red ears peeked out between his fingers.

“I… I have to go now.”

Si Zhiyan: “Mm.”

Si Zhiyan knew, even if he pressed, there’d be nothing more to say, so he merely smiled gently, seated on the grass, tilting his crimson eyes into a crescent. “I’ll remember today.”

Bian Xu looked on the verge of combusting, his voice trembling.

“Thank you, thank you, sir—I… I will too. Always… forever, I won’t forget.”

As Si Zhiyan watched Bian Xu’s form growing faint, he suddenly asked, “Will you always stay by my side, no matter what?”

“…Forever,” Bian Xu murmured, “until my soul, my body, and all that remains of me in this world ceases to exist.”

No matter life or death, victory or defeat, I will always… be with you.

Bzz.

His figure vanished, and the familiar feeling of restraint returned—a familiar vine once again wound around Si Zhiyan’s throat. It coiled over his collarbone, nuzzling into his neck’s hollow, as if exhausted, and finally settled, at peace.

Si Zhiyan stroked the tip of the vine, the smile on his lips slowly fading.

He gazed at the sunlit, joyful puppies spreading across the lawn, closed his eyes, and felt.

The curse had faded. The resentment as well. The years of struggle in the gap between life and death—gone from their faces, not a trace remained. The minehounds, the tendrils, the shadows: the excruciating pain and collapse had disappeared without a trace. As if, like any crop consumed by the farm, they had been transformed into something pure, happy, and new.

What remained was only these little dogs, clean and bright, coexist with tendrils, running and leaping in joy.

…So where did all those twisted curses go? Could they really vanish into thin air?

Whatever the case, Si Zhiyan had noticed. Not far off, among the grass, a newly born, five-petaled black flower wavered gently in the breeze. Around it drifted a scatter of minute, black fuzz.

[Emberbloom—Abyss]—for better or worse, it had already appeared.