A Tale of Forgotten Gods

Chapter 4: The Collector

The fresh memory of the flesh that hung on the wreath remained in Mo Fei’s mind. He felt every vein in his body react to that thought. He looked at the ribbon; the symbol 贰 was still glowing the same.

”FINE.” He heaved a long sigh. His words echoed through the silence. ”My story won’t end on your walls.” That gave Mo Fei another reason to survive now. Not only did he want to go home, but he also wanted to take revenge for every single terror he had faced and would face.

Mo Fei’s thoughts were interrupted by a soul-shattering sound. His breath hitched as he saw ”It” at the end of the street, its back turned - a silhouette of impossible proportions, too tall, too many limbs bent over something, perhaps a new ”project.”

He quickly ran again; when he looked back, ’It’ didn’t chase him. It just turned Its crown of a dozen eyes. Only one watched him flee; then It returned to Its work.

Mo Fei’s running slowed as he remembered his own strong words a few minutes ago. ”Talking so high... how am I going to fight these things? I can’t even fight a fly.”

He took a few steps forward, trying to find an isolated place to survive, but once again, the loneliness spread; the same doubt came to his mind. The unanswered question: ”What causes the trigger? Sleep?”

If it was just sleeping, then should he sleep again? He walked through the dead city. Buildings were barely holding together. The cracks were spreading through the stone. Another garden loomed ahead of him. The flowers were cut, resting in the ground.

Inside a house, something moved. Its red eyes lit the place. He quickly turned away. ”Yeah, I’m not going toward that shit.”

Above him hung a moon that seemed too normal... That was the concern.

”Shiphara district,” he muttered the name. ”Where could it be?” He talked to himself until he reached the entrance of the forest. This wasn’t the same forest he had come from.

At the edge of the city, before the forest, he saw tombstones dug deep into the ground. Insects crawled there. They were simple ants and beetles, but... A thing caught his attention. A snapped piece of ribbon.

Mo Fei’s hands reached for it, and he saw the word ’Apprentice’s-----.’ followed by a gap where the rest had been torn away, the other half was nowhere to be seen. He counted his breaths, one, two, three, to push down his anxiety. The moment he stood up, the snapped ribbon caught fire. Mo Fei tried to throw it away, but it sank into his hand, and went inside his veins.

He clenched his right wrist. The ribbon burned deep inside his skin, then the pain slowed and he collapsed. His right eye saw something for a fraction of a second... Threads? Then they snapped.

Mo Fei held himself together somehow. That thing... Finally, he started walking. ”I should find the Shiphara district. I might find the reason behind everything going on here.” He glanced at his hand again, which trembled slightly from what had happened moments ago.

Beneath him, the roots coiled around his ankle; they crawled further, covering his feet. Then, with a force, they pulled him.

Only then did he realize that the roots were bursting out of the tree near the well. The well was far from him, but it pulled him. His hand lunged toward a tombstone and clung to it.

Mo Fei’s gaze landed on a pillar made of glass, large and still with no cracks. It was the only place that seemed more alive than anything else. There he saw thirteen names written on the pillar.

Lightless,

Dreamer,

Keybearer,

Warden,

Arbiter,

-----

Before Mo Fei could read the other names, from the nearby doorways, ephemeral shadows of Yan Gu raised their heads. Drawn by his panic, they whispered in an ancient language that he couldn’t understand. They waved their hands as if to shoo him, or guide him away, like they were telling him to Let go of his futile attempt.

One Yan Gu, slightly larger than the others, spoke loud enough in ancient Mandarin that he could understand. Which he translated as ”Liú xiàlái. Liú xiàlái. Biàn dé ānjìng. Biàn dé ānjìng...”

It meant, Stay, Stay, become quiet, become still. Then in a chorus all of them sang in a rough, unpleasant voices. ”Biàn dé wú guāng... Biàn dé wú guāng.”

Become... Lightless.

Lightless? Mo Fei looked at the word on the pillar. Beneath it, the roots began to wrap around it. The glass shattered and scattered around into pieces. One of the fragments landed on his hand, and it bled. Mo Fei’s grip loosened, almost letting go of the tombstone. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. That chorus had awakened the pillar. At the bottom, written in a very particular modern language, that said, ’Embrace death.’

That was when Mo Fei got his answer, but it was a gambit. Could it be that death was the ascension ritual?

Sleep couldn’t be the only trigger, right? World 1 forced you into sleep, which you would have to pay back in World 2. The moment you closed your eyes, the moment you faltered, death would embrace you. The Collector wasn’t just an artist; it was a taxidermist of the living. ’It’ collected the dead as a warning that you’d be the next if you failed.

Mo Fei knew this now, because there was no safe place to sleep. Even if he managed to hide, he couldn’t hide forever. That was the truth. Exhaustion would eventually force his body to shut down, and that momentary helplessness would be the end.

The Yan Gu would inscribe him, or the roots would bind him and drag him toward the well, taking him into oblivion. K. and Li’s graffiti blazed in his mind.

”The ribbon lies.” The ribbon was nothing more than just a stamp to describe slavery. It didn’t care how he moved forward, only that he did. ”If sleep meant becoming art... and staying awake meant being hunted until I fell... Then that means death is inevitable... Almost as if it is what the world demands.”

Mo Fei wasn’t certain what could happen to him if he took the risk. He knew it could be the end of his story. He had to choose death before it was chosen for him.

The thought made his stomach twist. What if he was wrong? What if death here was just death? What if the old man in Qing Street was right, and the chosen ones simply vanished into the An Jie, never to return?

But K had been here four times. That meant death wasn’t the end. That meant ascension was real. He had to believe that. Because the alternative was unthinkable.

At that moment, Mo Fei looked back; the well stayed there; the roots tightened around his ankle. His leg threatened to come out.

Mo Fei’s eyes darted from the advancing Yan Gu to the silent, watching figure of the Collector at the lane’s end.

”You think you are superior one here?” He thought, his hand closing around the sharp, glass-like shard of stone at his feet. ”Fuck your world. If it means surviving in terror... Then I’d rather...” Mo Fei paused; his hands trembled as he finally decided.

”I’d rather die by my own hands than your disgusting creation. I couldn’t care less about your collection that you think is a masterpiece, that’s a fucking cheap piece of garbage!!”

He didn’t run that time; his eyes darted between the Yan Gus and the shard. And then he raised the shard high.

Before the nearest Yan Gu could lunge. He drove the shard into his throat and pushed it deeper.

Hsssss!

The pain was instant; a wet gasp escaped from his lips, a hollow scream. The Collector’s form jerked. ’It’ looked at Mo Fei’s hand that let go of the tombstone. A ripple of what looked like outrage disturbed ’Its’ graceful lines. The roots retreated, going back to the well’s vicinity. The Yan Gu stopped looking at Mo Fei’s body which had gone still.

He had chosen death instead of becoming its aesthetic, messy, uncontrolled, and unglamorous piece of art. And he saw that look of the Collector. ’Its’ hollow eyes locked onto his body, watching his blood pool on the ground. A glint of curiosity in ’Its’ eyes. Who knew how long it had been since a piece of art chose its destruction?

Then Mo Fei’s eyes closed.