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The paper crane flapped its wings, took off, circled the U-shaped blue sky formed by the apartment buildings, then landed back on Lin Sanjiu’s outstretched hand.
She stared at the crane, momentarily stunned, feeling as if her heart had dropped into a void.
Though she had considered this possibility, she hadn’t expected it to come true: Marcie was just a personality. When they communicated, the paper crane never flew towards a specific personality. Even if Marcie now had a physical body, Lin Sanjiu wasn’t sure if she was truly an independent person. If she was, what would her full name be? Marcie… Something. Surely, she should have a surname.
Lin Sanjiu chuckled bitterly and put the paper crane away.
There had to be other ways to find Marcie. Holding her breath, Lin Sanjiu listened intently. Advaita was seriously injured and couldn’t be entirely silent if she caught up. For now, it seemed Lin Sanjiu was the only one in the building.
She opened the door to apartment No. 1 and carefully closed it behind her.
After the previous game, everything was eerily quiet, like an ordinary apartment that hadn’t been rented for months. Because of this oppressive silence, Lin Sanjiu almost screamed when she spotted someone squatting on the living room floor.
The person turned, his eyes as large as copper bells and his face expressionless. It was unclear if he even noticed her. He abruptly stood, walked towards the bathroom, and unbuckled his belt. Once inside, he closed the door behind him, and the apartment fell silent. As her initial shock faded, Lin Sanjiu approached the bathroom door and found it empty.
He was likely one of the many characters left behind by the apartment game; Lin Sanjiu remembered something the volunteer might have mentioned.
“Isn’t this like hiding in a haunted house? What if Advaita sees these ghosts?” asked the Life Coach, whom Lin Sanjiu had summoned as a conversational partner. “If she thinks someone’s here and comes in…”
“When I entered earlier, I didn’t notice anyone,” Lin Sanjiu replied, drawing the curtains. They kept their voices low to avoid being overheard. “Unless she comes in, she can’t see anything. If she does come in, then I’m just unlucky.”
The Life Coach, ever the cautious one, replied, “Having faith in your perspective is… commendable.”
The Artist sat cross-legged on the sofa, holding a drawing board, looking lost and unsure of whose side to take. Although he couldn’t speak, his presence was comforting—like an old friend sitting beside her. After losing her friends one by one, Lin Sanjiu developed a fear of silence and emptiness. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, frozen in the moment just before falling into the void, and having to relive that feeling day after day.
“Caster,” Lin Sanjiu called softly to the daydreaming humanoid Special Item. “How long have you belonged to Silvan?”
She wanted to gauge Caster’s understanding of Silvan’s situation but didn’t expect such a simple question to confuse her. Caster stared at her fingers as if she had forgotten how to count and mumbled, “How long has it been… It began at 22, minus 23…”
The answer couldn’t be negative one, could it? Could Caster be a defective humanoid Special Item?
Lin Sanjiu asked more directly, “I know you were with me when he disappeared. But do you know why Silvan might have vanished suddenly? Has this happened before?”
As if connecting the dots, Caster answered confidently, “Not before.”
While Lin Sanjiu pondered this, Caster’s mental connection seemed to falter again as she added, “It happens later.”
“Don’t start with the prophecy stuff,” Lin Sanjiu warned. “I’m not in the mood.”
shifting her weight from one foot to the other as if she needed to use the restroom, Caster explained, “It’s not, not a prophecy… It’s my memory…”
“Go on.”
Caster’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I… I am an item. My memories are stored like data, incrementing with time. But strangely, I remember future events as if they’ve already happened, like they’re in the past.”
She was clearly trying to speak clearly this time, but Lin Sanjiu was thoroughly puzzled. Every conversation with Caster was frustrating, almost without exception.
Caster’s strained expression grew more intense. “I… I remember when I first appeared in the world and the sequence of events that followed, like being picked up, someone dying, and then being sold to someone else.”
Lin Sanjiu listened in silence while the Life Coach looked between them, deep in thought.
“By human reckoning, it’s been fifty years since my creation. I am fifty years old,” Caster said, her speech becoming more fluid. “I know—not ‘foresee,’ there’s a difference—that Silvan became my master when I was 78.”
“But he was your master just before,” Lin Sanjiu said.
“Yes, but you don’t understand,” Caster replied. “He became my master when I was 78. But even when I was 36, he was already my master.”
Lin Sanjiu thought for a moment, growing more confused. “Is your timeline running backward?”
“No,” Caster said. “I also aged from one to fifty. It’s only when I reached fifty that I realized, within this year, you became my master.”
A hint of regret crossed Caster’s face.
If Caster’s timeline was fine, then the issue must lie with Silvan. Lin Sanjiu pondered and asked, “So, is his timeline running backward?”
“Not that either.”
“Then what’s going on?” Lin Sanjiu asked in frustration. “You mentioned he might disappear suddenly in the future. Do you know where he’s gone? Will he come back?”
“I don’t know,” Caster answered. “He should return here, but I don’t know when.”
As long as he came back. Lin Sanjiu asked, “How can I contact him?”
Caster frowned. “I don’t know that either.”
‘If you don’t know anything, what use are you?’
Lin Sanjiu thought sourly. She pulled back the curtains and looked outside. As her gaze swept across the sky, a sudden realization struck her.
Wasn’t the Queen Mother still floating outside? Silvan had mentioned some connection between them. Maybe she could find him through the Queen Mother.
Finding the Queen Mother wouldn’t be difficult. She could just pilot Exodus. As long as she found Marcie and connected with Ji Shanqing, she could leave anytime.
This realization lifted Lin Sanjiu’s spirits and improved her mood. Curious, she asked the Artist and the Life Coach their ages. The answers surprised her. The youthful-looking Artist was over two hundred and thirty years old, a real old-timer. The Life Coach, on the other hand, was only 27; he was hardly experienced enough to be coaching anyone on life.
“Heroes are not judged by their origins, nor by their age,” the Life Coach said, glancing at the Artist. “He just nodded.”
Since the Artist couldn’t speak, Lin Sanjiu kept guessing his age, asking him to nod when she guessed correctly. However, when she surpassed 150 without a response, she began to suspect that the Artist might not have understood her instructions.
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s not one of his functions,” the Life Coach explained. “His only function is drawing, with just basic intelligence. Your humanoid Special Item is quite entry-level. For it to be so…” he paused, searching for the right word, “human-like is quite rare.”
Before Lin Sanjiu could respond, the Life Coach sighed and said, “Actually, I shouldn’t be having this casual chat with you. Every word I say should be aimed at motivating and inspiring you while earning a bit more in coaching fees.”
Lin Sanjiu was a little puzzled. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing much,” the Life Coach said uncertainly before waving dismissively. “I just feel that around you, all of us humanoid Special Items seem… increasingly adaptable.”
‘That isn’t surprising,’
she thought. One of the reasons she found humanoid Special Items useful was their ability to perform beyond their designated functions. For example, once on Exodus, she gave a dirty plate to the Artist to draw, instructing him not to include the stains. A few minutes later, she had a clean-looking plate, and the Artist was quite bewildered.
Lin Sanjiu quickly put this conversation behind her. There was another matter at hand waiting for her attention, something that promised happiness akin to finding money.
“It’s time,” she said, rubbing her hands, “to see what Advaita has given me.”
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