Elvia sat alone in the Ferris wheel cabin.
The amusement park beneath her feet remained brilliantly lit. The carousel continued to spin, the roller coaster roared on, and the faint pop of balloons from a distant shooting gallery could be heard.
But everything had gone still.
It wasn’t that time had stopped, but rather… everything had lost its meaning.
She had rejected Lilith. She had rejected that within-reach wish that would have allowed her to become human again. She had rejected flesh, warmth, and a heartbeat — everything she once thought was the meaning of her existence.
Yet, she didn’t regret it.
She was just… a little lonely.
The cabin hung at the highest point, swaying slightly. Elvia pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms. A translucent spirit body couldn’t shed tears, but the urge to cry remained lodged in her throat.
“So this is what rejection feels like…” she murmured to herself.
It was emptiness. But it wasn’t the emptiness of having nothing; it was a vast, open space that followed a choice.
It was like standing before a door leading to a magnificent palace and choosing to turn away, walking instead toward a wilderness path with no visible end.
You didn’t know what lay behind that wilderness path.
You knew what you had given up.
But you didn’t yet know what you had chosen.
Right then —
Riiip!
A massive sound, like the tearing of silk, echoed from the depths of the sky!
Elvia snapped her head up.
She saw the perpetually brilliant night sky above the amusement park being torn open by a blade of light.
It was a blade of light that came from the void, shattering the meticulously arranged curtain of stars and the colorful clouds.
The crack expanded.
Through the widening rift, Elvia saw it.
The rainy night of the real world.
Lead-gray clouds, icy threads of rain, and the silhouettes of the dilapidated buildings in the distant Lower City of Opas. Everything was blurred by the rain, yet it felt more real than all the colored lights in the amusement park combined.
Then, a figure stepped through the rift.
Elvia’s breath hitched.
The person stepped from the real rainy night into the fake paradise, walking through the void at the Ferris wheel’s highest point. He descended step by step as if on an invisible staircase.
He walked toward her.
Toward her cabin.
Elvia watched blankly as the figure grew clearer, framed by the multicolored glow of the amusement park.
His short black hair was damp from the rain, sticking to his temples. He wore a simple, familiar suit, the chill of the night still clinging to his shoulders.
But on his face…
He wore a mask.
It was an ancient-looking, dark red wooden mask.
Elvia’s pupils dilated instantly.
She recognized that mask.
It was too familiar. It was on every coin in the Holy Moon Empire, on the giant statue in the central square of Opeth City, in the illustrations of history books, and in the stories sung by countless Bards —
The mask of Lord Protector Jiang Ming.
The legend who had stood alone before the Rhine Blood River 100 years ago, repelling 200,000 rebels with only 5,000 troops.
The hero who had ventured deep into the Inner World, strangled the Ash Angel, and brought back the heads of two Crowned Ones.
And now.
That mask was being worn by this man.
Jiang Ming walked to the cabin door.
The door slid open automatically without a sound.
He stepped inside, his wet soles leaving dark footprints on the clean floor. Rainwater dripped from the tips of his hair — *drip, drip, drip* — sounding exceptionally clear in the overly quiet cabin.
He sat in the seat opposite Elvia.
His movements were natural, as if he were just tired from walking and had found a place to rest.
The cabin swayed gently and continued its slow descent.
The lights of the amusement park flowed in through the window, washing over Jiang Ming. The dark red mask gleamed under the colored lights.
Elvia stared at him in a daze.
She looked at the calm black eyes behind the mask’s eyeholes.
“Are you having fun?”
Jiang Ming spoke.
His voice was muffled by the wooden mask, but it retained the gentle tone Elvia was familiar with.
It was Jiang Ming’s voice.
Elvia opened her mouth to say something, but she found she couldn’t make a sound.
Too many questions were stuck in her throat like a tangled mess.
‘Why… are you wearing that mask?’
‘Why… could you tear this place open?’
‘Why… are you…’
‘Why…’
But the question that finally came out was something else entirely:
“Did you… get caught in the rain?”
The moment the words left her mouth, she froze.
Jiang Ming also seemed taken aback for a second.
Then, he let out a low chuckle. The sound filtered through the mask.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching up to wipe the rainwater from his face. “The rain outside is quite heavy.”
The answer was so ordinary.
It was so ordinary that Elvia suddenly felt that the blade of light that had torn the sky, the mask of the Lord Protector appearing here, and the Jiang Ming sitting across from her — both familiar and strange —
Everything didn’t seem so hard to accept anymore.
Because no matter what mask he wore, and no matter what incredible power he had just displayed…
He was sitting across from her right now, his hair wet, his shoulders damp, looking at her with those gentle, smiling eyes.
This person was Jiang Ming.
The Jiang Ming she knew.
Elvia’s heart suddenly settled.
She released her knees and leaned back, her gaze falling on the ground slowly rising outside the window.
“I’m not happy,” she said honestly. “How could I be happy after rejecting the thing I wanted most?”
“But you don’t regret it?” Jiang Ming asked.
“No.” Elvia nodded. “I don’t regret it.”
Silence fell for a few seconds.
“Why?” Jiang Ming’s voice was soft. “Wasn’t that wish your deepest obsession?”
Elvia turned her head to look at him.
The colored lights flowed into the cabin, casting shifting shadows on her translucent face.
“Because…” She weighed her words, speaking very slowly. “Aside from my sister, you are the second person who can see me. And you don’t care if I’m a Spirit Body, nor do you care that I’m a Cleaner, do you?”
Jiang Ming listened quietly.
The mask hid most of his expression, but Elvia could feel that he was listening intently.
“Moreover,” she continued, her voice dropping lower, “if I became human… I wouldn’t be able to sit on your shoulder, share flavors with you, or listen to your strange stories anymore.”
She spoke so softly that the words were almost swallowed by the mechanical hum of the Ferris wheel.
But Jiang Ming heard her.
He remained silent for a moment.
Then, he reached out and gently patted Elvia’s head.
The movement was natural, like he was comforting a pouting younger sister.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Even if you became human, if you wanted to sit there, would I really stop you?”
Elvia’s face flushed instantly.
She instinctively tried to look down, but she couldn’t help stealing a glance at Jiang Ming.
The eyes behind the mask watched her warmly.
“Besides,” Jiang Ming said, pulling his hand back and leaning against the seat, “neither your sister nor I ever looked down on you, right?”
“…That’s different,” Elvia muttered under her breath.
“How is it different?”
“My sister is my sister…” Her voice grew smaller and smaller. “You are… you are…”
She got stuck.
She didn’t know how to say it.
‘You are Jiang Ming.’
‘You are the first person who seriously asked me what I would do if the world ended tomorrow.’
‘You are the first person who let me possess them so I could taste things again.’
‘You are the first person… who made me feel that being alive isn’t just about pain and waiting.’
But she couldn’t say those things out loud.
So in the end, she just turned her face away, looking at the roof of the amusement park that had risen to meet their feet, and said gloomily:
“…Anyway, it’s just different.”
Jiang Ming looked at her stubborn profile, her slightly puffed-out cheeks, and the tips of her ears turning red beneath her translucent hair.
Suddenly, he understood something.
He was silent for a while.
Then he spoke, his voice even softer and more serious than before.
“Elvia.”
“Hmm?”
“The poem is very long,” he said. “It’s so long it feels endless. But the person writing the poem… will get tired, will get lost, will get stuck, and will doubt whether what they are writing has any meaning at all.”
He paused.
“So, if there can be a companion on the road — someone who can hand you a glass of water when you can’t write anymore, someone who can point the way when you’re lost, and someone who can say ‘this line isn’t bad’ when you’re doubting yourself —”
His gaze landed on her face.
“Then writing this poem… should be a bit more enjoyable.”
Elvia froze.
She slowly turned her head to look at Jiang Ming.
The cabin happened to reach the lowest point at that moment, and the door slid open automatically. The noisy sounds of the amusement park flooded in, mixing with the sound of rain like a grand, chaotic symphony.
But Elvia only heard Jiang Ming’s words.
She only saw the calm, serious black eyes behind the mask, flickering with a gentle smile.
Her heart — if a spirit could have a heartbeat — skipped a beat in that instant.
Then, she did something even she hadn’t expected.
She reached out.
Cautiously, tentatively, and with a surge of courage, she gently grabbed Jiang Ming’s sleeve.
The rough texture of the fabric transmitted through her fingertips, along with the warmth of his arm, which felt slightly hot through the soaked material.
“Then…” her voice was so light, as if she were afraid of disturbing something, “can I… can I be that person… who hands you the water?”
Jiang Ming looked down at the small, translucent hand gripping his sleeve.
Then, he smiled.
He turned his hand over and clasped her hand.
“Sure,” he said. “But let’s get this straight: I write poetry very slowly, and I often go off-topic.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Elvia’s eyes lit up. “I’m… I’m best at waiting for people.”
Outside the cabin, the rain continued to fall.