After the war between gods and demons ended five thousand years ago, the dissipation of the original celestial gods and the fall of the first god-king caused panic throughout the divine realm. One after another, countless gods and goddesses followed suit, meeting their demise. It started with parts of their bodies becoming transparent. For some, this process took mere months, while for others, it stretched over hundreds or even thousands of years. Once the divine body was completely reduced to nothingness, the god ceased to exist—no reincarnation, no afterlife, just utter dissolution.
At that time, like all the other gods, she too feared the day she might find parts of her body turning into transparent fragments of light.
After Tai He fell into slumber, there came a day when Han Nü's legs became transparent. When Tan Yin sealed her legs with the divine crystal, Han Nü didn’t seem too afraid. She wasn’t like the other gods, who went from agony to numbness. In fact, Han Nü smiled, her expression peculiar, her gaze full of strange nuances. "…That day has finally come."
Tan Yin felt sorrow. "Han Nü, don't be afraid. I’ll do my best to preserve your body."
Han Nü stroked her head, smiling and sighing. "I’m not afraid at all. I was just thinking… it’s finally beginning."
"What's beginning?"
"My tribulation."
"…Tribulation?" Tan Yin didn’t understand.
Han Nü looked at her and sighed deeply, her eyes filled with envy and something else far more profound, something inexplicable.
"When will your tribulation begin, Wu Shuang? Is your mind really only focused on making things?"
Tan Yin still didn’t understand, and Han Nü never explained further—until today.
And now, Tan Yin's tribulation had finally arrived.
Who knows how much time had passed before Tan Yin let out a long sigh. Her spirit abruptly left the wooden house, drifting aimlessly. Around her, the landscape was desolate, with patches of dry grass and scattered remnants of snow—no trace of human life.
The world was vast, yet at this moment, she didn’t know where to go. She too would fade away, just like the gods and goddesses who had vanished before her, her soul dissipating, never to exist in this world again.
Suddenly, a profound sense of reluctance and sorrow filled her. It was as though everything around her vanished in an instant, leaving only emptiness in her eyes.
Where should she go now? How many things did she still want to do? How many unfulfilled wishes did she have? Tan Yin’s mind felt foggy, lost. This empty yet vibrant world—so hateful, yet so dearly beloved—with its rising sun and setting moon, its spring breezes and autumn nights, its white snow and red lotus… she would never see it again.
Without direction, she let her spirit drift, not knowing how long she had floated until she seemed to arrive at a farm. It was getting dark, and the deep red and black hues of the sky intermingled. A young farm boy and girl were playing by the edge of a field, chasing each other under the glow of the setting sun.
Tan Yin drifted past them in a daze. No one could see her. The boy, finally catching up with the girl, grabbed her hand and laughed, “You like me—I know it!”
“Say you like me.” Hadn’t someone once said those words to him too? Tan Yin stopped instinctively, watching as the young couple, filled with the joy of first love, whispered sweet, secret words to each other, words only they could understand.
“We’ll be together forever, no matter what,” the boy promised fervently.
Forever? Had she once promised forever to someone as well?
Suddenly, Tan Yin’s vision blurred, and tears streamed down her face in an unending flood. She stared blankly at the sky as the twilight faded to its deepest hues. Night consumed the heavens, and the young couple, hand in hand, walked home. She stood alone, utterly isolated in the vastness of the world.
A long, long time ago, she had always been alone—alone in crafting things, alone in living, and alone in dying, her soul wandering the mortal world. Back then, she hadn’t understood what loneliness was. But later, when she met Tai He, she realized that being with someone was indeed more interesting than being alone. But Tai He had left her behind, choosing to be with Han Nü.
Even so, she had never felt loneliness as deeply and profoundly as she did at this very moment.
Where should she go? Where could she go? Would she now spend the rest of her days alone, living out her remaining life in solitude?
By dusk, snow had begun to fall again over the small cave world, gently blanketing the ground for over an hour before stopping. Before long, a bright, radiant moon appeared in the sky, casting a silver sheen over the snow-covered willows by the lakeside.
Yuan Zhong brushed the snow off his shoulders and slowly stood up. Another day had passed, and Ji Tan Yin had not returned.
Back in the warmth of the small building, Yuan Xiaozhong grimaced as he served a cup of tea, complaining again, “The master still isn’t back. I miss her so much! If she saw how adorable Yuan Xiaozhong has turned out like this, I wonder how heartbroken she’d be!”
Yuan Zhong looked him up and down, frowning. “Why are you always nagging? If you’re a man, keep quiet.”
Yuan Xiaozhong pointed at his own head, which had slumped over to his collarbone, and shouted in despair, “Wouldn’t you nag if you looked like this?! If you couldn’t fix me, you shouldn’t have tried! My beautiful face is now ruined, and I’m not even allowed to complain! Besides, I’m not a man—I’m a mechanical person!”
In his excitement, his arm, which had been misaligned and wedged below his ribs, fell to the ground and rolled away. Yuan Xiaozhong hurried to pick it up, but the makeshift wooden leg Yuan Zhong had crafted broke off again, causing him to crash to the floor, with his head rolling even farther away.
Yuan Zhong casually glued his disassembled body back together and reattached his head. Yuan Xiaozhong, on the verge of tears, muttered, “I hate you, Dazhong!”
Yuan Zhong, too tired to respond, ignored him and went upstairs to his room. He pushed open the door, revealing a wooden table in the corner, cluttered with various wood materials, rivets, and several volumes of craftsman’s manuals—books he had purchased during his last trip to Gui Xu.
In the corner stood a strange-looking automaton, mostly complete. It had arms, legs, a head, and a face, but its head was as large as a pumpkin, and its limbs were short and thick. Although its five fingers had been carved, they were all the same length and thickness. The facial features were all there, but the eye sockets had likely been carved too big, so he had inserted two massive black gemstones, which, paired with the sharp, knife-like nose and wide, basin-like mouth, gave the automaton a comically grotesque appearance.
Yuan Zhong stared at the automaton for a long time, sighing in dissatisfaction, but he couldn't do any better.
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