The Poet

The evening‍​‍⁠‍‌⁠‍‌​‍‍⁠‍‍‌​​‍​⁠​⁠​ breeze carried the sound of chimes across the Main City.

The ground of the central church was filled with white candles, and their melting wax flowed like tears over the engraved names on the base. In the center stood a large candle dedicated to “All the Unknown Victims of District 53.”

The poet held a prayer book and recited with a calm yet powerful voice.

“We pray for each departed soul—”

“Today, we burn our memories, turning them into candlelight to accompany you on your journey.”

“May you find peace and freedom, free from pain and fear.”

“May the great creation have mercy on every weak being, granting us, and them, eternity.”

People stood outside the circle of candles, clasped their hands together, closed their eyes and followed his prayer.

In the crowd, An Yu held a small white candle and blankly stared at the engraving on the base:

[Sacrificed in Battle

—Protector: Ling Qiu]

“Sir …”

“Although he never met most of the Protectors in the Spire, he was indeed a comrade,” Qin Zhilu said objectively. “Losing Ling Qiu is a loss to you, to the Spire, and to humanity.”

The small candle flame flickered and swayed before An Yu’s eyes. As a drop of wax was about to fall on An Yu’s hand, Qin Zhilu took the candle and caught the wax on his leather glove, forming a small milky spot.

An Yu quickly said, “I’m very sorry—”

“No need to apologize.”

Qin Zhilu poured out the excess wax and carefully wiped the candle with a handkerchief before handing it back to An Yu.

Just as An Yu was about to take it, Qin Zhilu pulled the candle back, leaving An Yu empty-handed.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve noticed you always say certain phrases, almost like you’ve memorized them by heart.”

Qin Zhilu mused, “I’m very sorry. You are right. Please. And…”

“Thank you and I wish you success,” An Yu reflexively added.

Read at Mizushi Novels

Visit Mizushi Novels

An Yu mumbled a soft “yes” while staring at the candlelight. “If you want me to change—”

Support the original translation

Read on Mizushi Novels

“Yes.” Qin Zhilu nodded towards the poet. “Focus, and pray for Ling Qiu.”

Don't scrape

Don't copy

“Facing the light, cutting through the abyss.”

Read at Mizushi Novels

Visit Mizushi Novels

His peaceful gaze swept across the crowd, and he gently curved his lips, raising his voice, “May sorrow be rushed into peace in my heart—”

Support the original translation

Read on Mizushi Novels

“Like the evening among the silent trees.”

Don't scrape

Don't copy

Qin Zhilu explained, “People distinguish between normal snowstorm and distorted snowstorm by whether it melts. The snowflakes that come with distortion never melt, gradually forming a vast, white snowfield that covers the world beyond the dome. The Brain has conducted many samplings, and each snowflake has chaotic frequencies and energy fluctuations, but it remains indecipherable. So, snow is just a symbolic name; it is not real snow, and no one knows what it truly is.”

Read at Mizushi Novels

Visit Mizushi Novels

An Yu looked up at the high, expansive church tower, “Ling Qiu said that Main City is full of rationality. I didn’t know there could be religion here.”

Support the original translation

Hearing this, An Yu looked at the slender, gentle figure on the stage, “So, besides seeking solace from him, is there any real religion?”

“Religion is forbidden in the Main City. Absolute rationality, absolute values, never disapoint —this is the Main City’s mission.” Qin Zhilu paused, “I know Bait City is full of religions, as a life of destitution and suffering does need to rely on faith. Hence, the High Peak never interferes.”

After finishing his words, Qin Zhilu suddenly said, “Wait for me.”

He walked towards a tall man in the crowd, dressed in a luxurious black silk shirt, with sleeves rolled up. A large black rose tattoo bloomed on his strong arms, exuding an intimidating presence.

An Yu glanced briefly at the man and then continued observing the poet behind the pulpit. The poet seemed shrouded in a layer of fog, gentle and non-aggressive, making An Yu feel unusually comfortable. The poem that the little girl read on the shuttle bus was probably his work.

Noticing An Yu’s gaze, the poet put down what he was holding and walked towards him.

“I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you,” he said with an elegant smile. “My name is Eye. May I ask your name?”

“An Yu.”

“A very unique name.” The poet looked at him, “Your eyes bring a sense of peace. It’s just perfect, can you help me fetch a few candles? I want to go up to the tower to find a poetry collection.”

“Sure.”

An Yu picked up two candles without engravings from the ground and followed the poet, climbing the spiral staircase step by step.

The church was scattered with poetry collections, giving a romantic sense of chaos. The poet searched for a long time before finally grasping a nameless poetry book. He turned to look out the window and softly said, “I always see a large cluster of fluctuating red lights in the sky. Can you see it?”

An Yu blankly looked outside—there was only a clear night sky.

The poet smiled, “No matter, just think of it as me being obsessed with writing poetry. Those gathered fragments of red light are growing larger, but a few days ago, the clusters in the southeast corner suddenly merged and stopped moving. It made me feel quite relieved.”

He paused slightly, “I saw the outline of a gear behind them, with a brake line extending from the gear, binding the red light.”

An Yu rarely met someone he wanted to talk to, but he couldn’t respond because Ling Qiu had never taught him astronomy.

The poet handed him the poetry book in his hands, “Please accept this.”

“For me?”

“Consider it a gift.” The poet smiled, “I bring tranquility to Main City, but I often feel restless. Looking into your eyes brings me peace. This is a collection of my unpublished poems. If there’s anything you don’t understand, feel free to come to the church and find me.”