Darkness, viscous and boundless.
Only the faint beam of light from the motorcycle’s headlight cut through the chaos, serving as the sole direction and support.
Elvira clung tightly to Jiang Ming’s waist, using nearly all her strength to press herself against his back.
Through the fabric of his clothes, her cheek felt his body heat. The vibration of the engine and his steady, powerful heartbeat intertwined into the most reassuring melody in this deathly silence.
The wind howled and the cold was biting, but his presence was like a silent and solid fortress, shielding her from all unease.
She held him so tightly that her arms began to ache, yet she did not want to loosen her grip in the slightest.
“Jiang Ming.” Her voice was muffled against his back, softer than the noise of the wind.
“Hmm?” His response was concise as always, yet it brought her peace.
“…That road just now was very dark and very cold.” She organized her words, trying to describe that indescribable sense of fading away. “It was like… I was about to become nothing.”
Jiang Ming drove in silence for a few seconds before slowly speaking. “Death is a realm the living cannot truly understand. It might be nothingness, or it might be a transformation. But what matters isn’t what lies at the end — it’s who you are when you walk toward it.”
“I…” She remembered her final choice, her determination to destroy herself. “At that time… I just didn’t want to turn into something else. I only wanted to end as Elvira.”
“I know,” his voice vibrated through his chest. “That’s why you’re back.”
“Why?” she finally asked her deepest confusion and insecurity, tightening her arms as if afraid of hearing a negative answer. “The price you paid… must have been huge. For someone who had already reached the end, who had even ended their own life, was it worth it? Am I… worth it?”
As the motorcycle pierced through the darkness, Jiang Ming’s voice carried to her. “Elvira, what do you think death is?”
She thought for a moment. “…The disappearance of existence, the severing of consciousness.”
“That is the result,” he said. “I value the process more. When someone is willing to die for the sake of living, I don’t think her story should end.”
“This isn’t a calculation of worth. It’s that I feel your story shouldn’t conclude there. You still have a road to walk, and there are still people who want to see you keep going.”
Elvira was stunned, tears welling in her eyes.
She buried her face deep into his clothes and sniffled, forcefully blinking back her tears. She said nothing, only holding him tighter.
After an unknown amount of time, that familiar door appeared ahead. Warm light seeped through the crack of the door like a lighthouse in a dark ocean.
Jiang Ming stopped the bike. Elvira had to let go, her movements somewhat sluggish. As if losing his warmth, the surrounding chill immediately closed in again.
She stood still and looked back at him. He did not get off the bike, which meant they were parting.
“Go inside. They are waiting for you.” His voice was gentle, but his gaze seemed to drift toward the deep darkness behind her. He sensed something else was waiting for him.
“You’re not coming?” she asked, her heart sinking.
Having just experienced the separation of life and death, she could not bear to watch him walk into danger alone again. That fear of losing him was now incredibly clear and sharp, even surpassing her fear of her own demise.
“I have something to take care of. I’ll be back once I’m done,” he said, trying to sound casual.
Elvira took a step forward and looked up at him.
The dim yellow light of the headlight illuminated her pale face and those Crimson Eyes filled with complex emotions. There was worry, there was plea, there was an unquelled turbulence, and even a sliver of an almost stubborn possessiveness that she had not yet fully realized. She didn’t want him to leave her sight, she didn’t want him to take risks alone, and she wanted him to be safe, staying where she could see him.
All her words were blocked in her throat, finally turning into an almost childish gesture. She extended her right hand, stubbornly sticking out her pinky finger and holding it up in front of him.
“Pinky swear.” Her voice wasn’t loud. “Promise me, Jiang Ming. Promise me that you will definitely come back — that you’ll return here completely unharmed.”
She stared intently into his eyes.
Jiang Ming did not hesitate. He extended his own pinky and firmly hooked it with hers.
“Alright,” he looked at her. “Pinky swear. I promise you, Elvira. I will definitely come back.”
His promise acted like a soothing pill, yet it made her nose tingle again.
She hooked his finger tightly, as if doing so could lock the agreement in place. After a moment, she slowly let go, the sensation and warmth of his skin lingering on her fingertips.
She gave him a long, deep look, as if wanting to brand his face, his promise, and his current presence into the deepest part of her soul.
Then, she turned abruptly and did not look back. She walked quickly toward the Gate of Light, knowing that if she stayed for even one more second, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from asking him to stay.
She pushed the door open, and warm light poured out. At the final moment before the door closed, her figure paused for an instant before finally vanishing behind the light.
—
Jiang Ming leaned against the cold motorcycle and exhaled softly. The heavy exhaustion, the surge of emotion, the pressure of the future, and the strange sensation of emptiness and lightness intertwined after losing the Crown had all settled into a deep weariness.
He suddenly understood why characters in movies always liked to light a cigarette after a major decision or an intense battle.
Unfortunately, he never smoked.
He rested for a moment to let his breathing and heartbeat return to a steady rhythm. He straightened up, no longer relying on the motorcycle for support. He cast his gaze toward a certain direction in the depths of the darkness.
Something was calling him from there. It wasn’t a threat, but more like… a long-scheduled meeting.
After walking for an unknown amount of time — perhaps an instant, perhaps an eternity — a simple, unremarkable Wooden Door appeared ahead. The door was slightly ajar, and warm yellow light spilled from the gap, looking exceptionally warm and out of place against the absolute darkness.
Jiang Ming did not pause and pushed the door open to enter.
Inside was a small room with furnishings so simple it was almost empty. The only furniture was a stone table in the center and two stone stools.
A game of international chess was already set up on the table. The black and white pieces stood solemnly. Under the flickering glow of a thick candle at the corner of the table, they cast long, trembling shadows.
A person sat on one side of the stone table.
Jiang Ming was not surprised at all. He walked to the empty stone stool, sat down, and scanned the chessboard. The position was a standard opening, with white moving first.
“Please,” the Masked Man’s voice came from behind the mask.
Jiang Ming played white. He picked up the king’s pawn and moved it forward two squares. The crisp sound of the piece landing was exceptionally clear in the silence.
The Masked Man played black, responding with the same standard opening.
There were no pleasantries and no explanations.
The playing styles of both men were extremely steady, moving step by step and calculating deeply. The offense was like an undercurrent, while the defense was like a wall of iron. By the middle of the game, the situation was exceptionally tight with frequent exchanges. Complex fortifications were built in front of both King’s positions, and any reckless move could bring a devastating blow.
They were evenly matched. Truly two of a kind.
As the game entered the endgame, both sides were left with only a few pieces, and the battle became subdued.
Then, instead of looking at the board, the Masked Man slowly raised his head, his blank face looking toward Jiang Ming.
“Jiang Ming, if resisting Fate… is itself a part of the thread Fate has already woven, what would you do?”
Jiang Ming’s finger was hovering over a White Knight. Hearing this, he paused slightly. He did not answer immediately, but fell into thought.
The room fell into a deeper silence, with only the candle flame flickering restlessly.
After a long time, Jiang Ming moved the knight.
Only then did he raise his eyes to meet the blank mask. His gaze was calm, though the exhaustion remained.
“Then I would still resist,” he answered. His voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clear.
The mask seemed to watch him, waiting for more.
“If my resistance is fated,” Jiang Ming continued, his finger unconsciously tapping the edge of the cold stone table, “then at least it shows that the role Fate arranged for me isn’t a puppet that only knows how to bow its head and endure.”
“It gave me anger, it gave me choice, and it gave me the impulse to throw a punch even while knowing it might be in vain. In that case, following that destiny to resist is perhaps the most authentic story I can write as the existence known as Jiang Ming.”
He paused and then continued.
“Even if this resistance is a part of Fate, I will use all my strength to complete it. Not to overthrow some illusory master, but to… give myself closure.”
“Within my limited perception and within the range of what I can reach, I will make the choices I believe are right and walk the path I believe I should walk. As for whether this is a play Fate wants to see…”
He gently knocked over the White King on his side of the board.
“That doesn’t matter.”
The candle flame flickered violently. The Masked Man quietly watched the fallen White King, then slowly raised his “gaze” to land on Jiang Ming’s face.
A few seconds later, he also reached out and knocked over his own Black King.
The chess game ended in a draw where both kings perished.
“An interesting answer,” the Masked Man’s voice remained steady and emotionless. “Well then, the road is still long.”
After saying that, his figure — along with the stone table, stools, chessboard, pieces, and the candle — began to blur and fade rapidly as if a reflection in water had been disturbed. Finally, they dissipated completely into the air.
Jiang Ming did not linger. He turned around and began to walk toward the direction he came from — toward the warm Gate of Light that led back to his companions.