God does not love man. / Only man will love man

“He cannot​​‍‌‌​​⁠‍‍⁠‍⁠⁠⁠‍​‍⁠‌‌‍‌‌ see the smallness of the ants.

He fell by chance, shattered, slept, reunited, and departed.

Never did He bestow a single glance upon the ants.

Therefore, God does not love man.

Only man will love man.”

As the final line of poetry fell, the church bells happened to toll. The sound sliced through the biting air of late winter and early spring, drifting over the human Main City and echoing long across the world.

This was the first toll, the Bell of Farewell. Humankind drove a stake into the river of time, officially bidding farewell to the calamity.

The poet set down the thin, yellowed page and smiled at the tearful crowd before the church doors. “My name is An Ning. I will continue to run this church for those who have passed, until the day it is completely dismantled for the restructuring of the city.”

A child asked clearly, “I heard you were once a Protector?”

An Ning smiled, a cluster of soft light gathering in his blue-purple eyes. “Yes.”

“The neighbors say some Protectors haven’t fully recovered. Is that true?”

The crowd went silent, waiting for an answer.

The smile on An Ning’s lips remained unchanged as he calmly explained, “Yes. The chaos has ended, and some Protectors cannot completely shed the biological traits caused by gene fusion. However, they no longer possess supernatural abilities, nor are they infectious.”

Seeing that the confusion on their faces had not dissipated, he paused and added, “Just think of them as ordinary people with slightly different physiological structures. They are absolutely safe.”

The child gaped for a moment before shaking his head. “I mean, has their health recovered? My mom said the Protectors were all badly hurt to protect us.”

Just then, the bells tolled again.

This was the second toll, the Bell of Revelation. Humanity thus declared the opening of the Post-Resistance era; civilization would endure with the reconstruction of a new world.

The bell caused An Ning’s chest to vibrate. He stared blankly at the child through the sound until the echoes faded. He walked over, picked the boy up, pressed the soft, warm little body against himself, and kissed the child’s forehead.

“They have all recovered.”

The child poked his moist eyelashes and asked in a milky voice, “Is there any ‘ouchie’ left?”

“No,” An Ning kissed him again, whispering, “They are all very well.”

“Where will they go after the new world is built?”

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Bubble boxes popped up on the screen one after another.

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—I’ve skimmed the instructions; I must say, the former Black Tower is being very sincere. Unlimited freedom and generosity. You won’t regret filling this out.

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Don't copy

—When humans think they can’t reach you, they can go through me. Clearly, they are still as self-importantly stupid as ever.

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Qin Zhilu’s voice was deeper than usual. “That AI you raised—” He leaned down to bite An Yu’s shoulder and the two legs hooked behind him suddenly clenched. He paused before continuing, “It has no sense of timing. Set a usage limit for it.”

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But he wasn’t the “Commander” anymore; the Spire was gone. The former “Commander” and his “Supervision Subject” were now completely equal. An Yu tried to resist one more time, but Qin Zhilu leaned down, and his scorching breath hit the back of An Yu’s neck as he whispered, “Be good.”

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“Mhm.”

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“Ugh…”

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This man was just fierce. He liked An Yu in pain; he liked An Yu crying. He had reminded this man of everything in the past— about the turning point, about waiting, about the snowstorm, about following one’s heart… He had remembered it all, except for the part about being gentler to him.

After all, he had been fierce since the very first time they met.

When it was over, An Yu curled up on his side in bed, his eyes closing in exhaustion. Qin Zhilu held him from behind, their skin flush against each other.

An Yu had almost jumped the first time the Commander held him like this, but he soon grew accustomed to and craved this warmth that felt like melting together, just like the boring days in the slums accompanied by Ling Qiu, narrow but safe.

Now, the embrace behind him had become a new, absolutely safe corner.

An Yu’s whole body ached terribly, and he shifted unconsciously. Qin Zhilu kept his arm around him. Just as An Yu was about to fall asleep, he heard that voice whisper gently into his ear.

“Fine, have it your way. I hope it gradually learns when not to pop up and disturb us.”

It took An Yu a moment to realize the Commander had actually compromised. Even if it was such a small thing.

Then, the warm embrace suddenly let go. The sliver of coldness on his skin snapped him back to consciousness. Just as he was about to turn around, Qin Zhilu flipped him over again, gripping his waist to lift him up slightly.

An Yu was startled. “You’re not done yet—”

Suddenly, Qin Zhilu knelt behind him. His hot breath hit An Yu’s waist, triggering a series of electric shivers. Qin Zhilu knelt there, kissing those scars, his lips brushing and teeth grazing them as if caressing the years that had passed.

An Yu felt a bit of pain from his movement. But he didn’t dodge; he was always exceptionally submissive in these matters because he loved seeing the Commander satisfied.

It wasn’t until there wasn’t a single patch of fair skin left on An Yu’s waist, belly, or back that Qin Zhilu finally stopped. He left one last, soft kiss.

That kiss was very light. It reminded An Yu of that day in the Polar Region when An and Ning merged, how that last golden butterfly had gently flapped its wings. It was like the final moment in the Dark Wasteland.

When An Yu had returned to reality from the endless torrent of spacetime, the Order Body, the Chaos Body, and the Cognitive Body—His divinity—finally converged within An Yu’s body. He seemed to hear voices from beyond the infinite high-dimensional universes; all things were like sand, drifting and dispersing within his conscious world.

The Commander’s statue had become transparent before him: that was the Chaos Body gradually merging into him. It was at that moment he realized where the Commander’s true self was hidden. The mirror fragment placed over An Yu’s heart had silently embedded itself into the execution rack, awakening the person sleeping within.

When He departed completely, An Yu had been kneeling piously, just as the Commander was now. Kneeling deep within the scarred earth, he had leaned down to kiss the execution rack.

Bound there was a pure soul: his Commander, his beloved.

Qin Zhilu helped him lie back down, brushed a kiss against his cheek through his messy hair, and hugged him again from behind.

“Sleep.”

The familiar scent was buried in An Yu’s hair as the man coaxed him gently. In his daze, An Yu felt that perhaps the Commander did remember a bit of the promise from that day.

Sometimes, he was almost gentle.