Famine 226: Bygone Days

Without a doubt, he was being judged and punished.

Bian Xu’s unfocused, bloodshot, watery golden eyes fixed on Si Zhiyan’s gently moving lips, from which he uttered a few words, tone light and casual:

“——I will always stand by your side.”

——

Ah—

Bian Xu’s pupils contracted slowly.

Intense heat seemed to burn him alive, his mind went utterly blank; it even took him two seconds to process the meaning of Si Zhiyan’s words.

But Si Zhiyan had already continued.

“I won’t ask you to truly cherish yourself, nor will I make you lay everything bare before me… Because I know you’ll never betray me, nor will you ever bring harm upon yourself because of me. If you don’t wish to speak, then don’t.”

Si Zhiyan lowered his eyes to watch him, lashes gently veiling the tranquil red gaze.

“Even though you’ve always stood behind me, I can see it… We are the same kind of people.”

Unwilling to end their own life, unafraid of death, holding desire in their hearts, and pressing ever forward.

Bian Xu’s ideals had never been lofty castles built by clinging to Si Zhiyan’s side.
Watching everyone gathered, whispering, earnestly living life, and enjoying good food… At those times, Bian Xu, leaning alone atop a tree branch, would always smile the happiest of all.

As Bian Xu silently watched them, Si Zhiyan, too, was watching Bian Xu.

That radiant, beautiful youth—so bright he seemed like the sun, even half-hidden amid the treetops… Now, beneath Si Zhiyan’s hand, his chin trembled so violently it almost lost all shape.

Si Zhiyan’s icy fingers brushed lightly against Bian Xu’s cheek.

“So, I have only one thing to say—”

“No matter what happens, I will stand by your side always. If you need to, you can rely on me as much as you like.”

“Just as I once relied on you.”

“——Gu…”

Bian Xu couldn’t utter a single word.

Within that intense, reason-destroying yearning, a subtle emptiness blossomed in him.

It was as though some small animal, long wandering the world alone, were suddenly brought home, cleansed of all dirt, and given a heaping bowlful of meat… The overwhelming impact would leave it stunned.

Bian Xu tilted his head up, his mind nearly blank: Me? Do I deserve this?

—As though he knew people like himself never should be treated this way, and Si Zhiyan’s words felt so alien they were almost incomprehensible. Yet in his chest something blazed so fiercely, burning…

Why, he wondered, would a man like that ever look at me?

And—

I want it so much.

I want it, want it, want it—want it so badly it was breaking him. Sir was the best man in the world. Truly, the very best; nothing in existence could compare, flawless, matchless, peerless. He wanted to be together. To always stay together. To embrace him, to devour him, to cling so tightly he could bury his head in that embrace until death. He wanted to be with him forever, to never part for even a moment, to spend countless years together, from birth to the very end.

Bian Xu gazed up like that, trembling, looking into his sir’s red eyes, thinking:

You deserve all the best, everything, the finest the world can offer.

He nodded fiercely, again and again.

Si Zhiyan smiled.

Bian Xu felt as if he couldn’t hold on much longer. His body trembled harder and harder, eyes growing hazy as physiological tears completely blurred his vision until only a fog remained.

Behind him, vines once again ran wild, wrapping the two of them together in ever-tightening layers, destructive might twisting the tendrils into a perilous curve, wild and quivering, hovering half an inch before Si Zhiyan—yearning to touch him, yet unwilling—no, unable.

Si Zhiyan was almost moved by such effort.

It really was rather endearing; he savored the moment a little longer. Only when Bian Xu was near collapse did he chuckle softly, running his hand through that damp golden hair, and said, “Eat.”

Boom!

The surging vines engulfed him at once, binding him tightly.

As his body curled into the soft couch cushion, Si Zhiyan was still smiling, feeling the tremor deep in his own chest. There was no broad bed here, but his tall, lean frame was easily folded. Moving with Bian Xu’s strength, Si Zhiyan obediently tilted his head back, baring a vulnerable, trembling Adam’s apple…

…………
……

When he found himself once more in that familiar void, Si Zhiyan had already grown accustomed to it.

More than that, by now he actually looked forward to his daily hours of sleep.

Leisurely, Si Zhiyan stretched, letting his spirit’s feelers drift outward, floating on the wind.

He found a bubble painted with soaring skyscrapers and poked his tendril inside.

Every one of his bubbles was about Bian Xu, composed of memories they’d forged together on their journey.

All the things Si Zhiyan had once missed, all the memories he’d been forced to abandon to evade the main god… Bian Xu was quietly returning them, in his own unique way.

In the night’s bubble, Si Zhiyan quietly waited behind laboratory glass, watching as Bian Xu gingerly poked his golden head inside; or sat by a campfire in the great desert, listening to Bian Xu’s passionate tales of sand and stars; or, expressionless, leaned in the treetops, watching Bian Xu laugh and roughhouse with the Xubei team…

No wonder the Xubei team never recognized Si Zhiyan.

In all these memories, even when he was present, he was nothing but an indistinct shadow—a shape shrouded in darkness.

He was pondering, exploring the famine game designed by the main god, slowly experimenting as if designing a new [system].

The process was complex, and even now, Si Zhiyan, thinking back, remembered how aloof and distant he often seemed, even toward Bian Xu.

Every time he spoke, it was to save the team from peril—that was his only topic.

Every sentence was incisive and to the point, but at the same time, it meant he spoke very little.

To each member of the Xubei team, he was an object of deep awe.

Think about it! An enigmatic, towering figure, uncovering the most fundamental secrets of this world. Dangerous, taciturn, yet utterly reliable—they existed only to serve him. What more could they possibly say?

Whenever Si Zhiyan appeared, the atmosphere would turn instantly silent, as if someone had pressed mute. Everyone held their breath and stood at attention, waiting for his next crucial command.

Sometimes, this would make Si Zhiyan falter just slightly, feeling a trace of subtle discomfort.

…Except for Bian Xu.

Bian Xu, entirely oblivious to the tension, would always jump in with a wildly enthusiastic quip, greeting him, picking up wherever Si Zhiyan left off. No matter what he said, Bian Xu never let a single word fall flat. No matter how dire the circumstances, Bian Xu always found a joke to liven the mood…

So many years, so many times.

Because Bian Xu was there, all the hardship and pain of those years seemed to leave no bitter memories at all.

Bian Xu always revered him as if he were a deity, the only sun in his sky.

In the dead of night, in the silent reaches of the void where no one was watching, Si Zhiyan would stare at the bubble containing Bian Xu’s dazzling golden hair and think: He is the true sun. Burning, too, like a banner at full blaze.

He was the golden crow.

This bubble was still playing. The apocalypse tower in the CBD—a pair of twin buildings. Xubei Team, under Si Zhiyan’s command, broke into the towers and finally retrieved the Seed of Famine. But during their retreat, they were ensnared by the deadliest and most bizarre entity.

Bian Xu stepped forward, taking the Seed of Famine alone and drawing danger away. And, following Si Zhiyan’s instructions, ultimately resolved the threat.

“We’ll leave at dawn,” Si Zhiyan said.

Bian Xu blinked and nodded.

Dawn had not yet come. Bian Xu seemed to cherish, even relish, this night spent alone with Si Zhiyan. Humming a merry little tune, he led Si Zhiyan through the silent office building.

He never stopped talking, searching eagerly for conversation, and introduced every little interesting thing he came across:

“Oh, this break room is done nicely! Floor-to-ceiling windows—open and beautiful. When things ran smoothly, the company put coffee inside. As for whether it was a proper machine or just instant coffee…well, that depended on the budget and benefits, I guess. I always wanted to work in an office like this, haha.”

“Look at this—wide workstations, and they even have beds for naps… Everyone brought their own pillows.”

“Wow, there are so many hidden anomalies in the cleaning closet?!”

Had someone like Anderson been there, he would have quietly rolled his eyes. The break room was so transparent mostly to prevent employees from lingering; beds at every station meant you’d probably work late enough to lose the will to live; the cleaning closet was a lethal trap—most players who came here would end up dead…

But Bian Xu said none of this to Si Zhiyan.

Everyone else shrank away from the mysterious and powerful false god that was Si Zhiyan—but Bian Xu was the only one who strove to make him a little happier in this hell.

Bian Xu’s golden light would clear away all threats, leaving Si Zhiyan free to crouch by his side, reading the sticky notes employees had left under their desks to curse their bosses, both of them grinning in spite of themselves.

“Look, sir, he hid the transfer files—what a brave soul, I like him…”

Bian Xu rocked with laughter, eagerly reading every sticky note, rummaged through the desks for ages, and in a corner found a notebook.

“Look, sir, it’s a street maintenance log… This used to be a property management office!”

“Haha, missing this, the contractor will have a real headache…”

But as he laughed, Bian Xu’s expression grew heavy.

“…Wait, it says here, the fortieth day is garden weeding day.”

“So that’s it. That’s why the park was safe through the first forty days… So many weak player teams camped there.”

Bian Xu closed the log.

Lifting his eyes, he spoke earnestly:

“We need to intervene.”

In the memory, Si Zhiyan crouched beside him under the desk, tilting his head a little, his voice even:

“Weak teams. They won’t make it. System won’t save them. No need to interfere.”

But this time, Bian Xu closed the notebook and shook his head seriously: “No, sir.”

“No matter how weak, they have the right to survive. They’ve struggled so long; we simply can’t assume they’ll never make it, or that the system won’t come.”

“Their resilience might be far beyond what any of us imagine.”

Si Zhiyan’s expression did not shift.

In the darkness, Bian Xu gazed at him, gaze sincere, a shade of tenderness and sorrow in his eyes.

“Sir, I’m just as weak as they are.”

…………
……

Pop.

The bubble burst.

Time was up.

Si Zhiyan opened his eyes. He found himself lying on a soft bed, daylight streaming through the room.

He’d slept far too late last night. When he finally woke, it was nearly noon.

Bian Xu was already up; from the outside drifted familiar aromas of food.

Aching, but refreshed, he should have felt rested and content from such a dream, from such a well-slept night.

Yet, lying alone, Si Zhiyan stared at the ceiling, utterly grave, his features showing not a trace of relaxation.